


most important things

by sarcasticfishes



Series: the most important things [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Derek is a Good Parent, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Slow Build, Stiles is a Good Teacher, so it all works out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first Derek didn’t know what to do with Romy. She was this tiny, squirming, pink thing that he had no idea how to read. But she was also his niece, and the only thing he had left in the world. He thought about giving her up and going back to California, but the thought of being so close to the place where his family had once been so alive hurt him, and so did the thought of letting her go. And so, in Chicago he stayed, and the Hills were forgotten. He didn’t want to go back. And no one came looking for him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	most important things

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Hannah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pronounciationazi) and [Ang](http://archiveofourown.org/users/angelastjoan) for the beta and helping me with my Americanisms. I'm extremely grateful for your help with this project, because I suck and it's amazing to have your reassurance.
> 
> Feels like I've been writing this forever and it's been a bizarre trip. Also, shame on me, but I can't help but at least write ONE fic per fandom where I let out some of my heritage. This is the fic! There's a bit of Irish vocab here, because I couldn't help using it, and you can find info on that, & pronunciation of some names in the notes at the end :)

Derek had never been good at being an authority figure. Erica and Boyd were still something he didn’t like to talk about, Isaac had defected to Scott’s pack (even though that had been Derek’s intention), and so for a while it’d just been him and Cora on the road. After the Alpha Pack and Jennifer, Derek had needed a breather from Beacon Hills, but he had every intention of returning.

Then Cora got pregnant when they were in Chicago, a cute guy named Joey who ran at the first chance he got, and Cora had used those eyes and that little-sister-persuasion of hers to convince Derek into not tracking him down and ripping his throat out. Derek would live to regret that, Cora wouldn’t.

Romaine was born in the Fall, late October. By December, Cora was dead. Derek hated to think about it, but it was like history repeating itself. Joseph Jaeger (and the name is _painfully_ obvious once Derek thought about it) belonged to a family of hunters. Star-crossed lovers he and Cora were _not_ – Joey’d had a bullet with her name on it since day one. He had run from her out of shame. The fact that Joey’s family disowned him for breaking the code, and fled Illinois, was only a small comfort if anything at all.

At first Derek didn’t know what to do with Romy. She was this tiny, squirming, pink thing that he had no idea how to read. But she was also his niece, and the only thing he had left in the world. He thought about giving her up and going back to California, but the thought of being so close to the place where his family had once been so alive _hurt_ him, and so did the thought of letting her go.

And so, in Chicago he stayed, and the Hills were forgotten. He didn’t want to go back. And no one came looking for him anyway.

•

Romy was sitting at the kitchen table, swinging her legs as she prodded at her cereal with a spoon, “Uncle Derek?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Derek lifted his eyes from his newspaper and smiled at her fondly. He found it impossible _not_ to smile at her, but why wouldn’t he?

“Are you gonna take me all the way to my classroom?”

He put down the paper altogether, folding his arms on the table in front of her.

“Nope, I have to take you to the first assembly, remember? Then you get taken to your classes in groups to meet your teacher, and I have to go to work.”

“But how will you know where to pick me up?” she asked, green eyes wide, nervous energy and quivering lips.

“I know where to get you. At the door of the gym, remember?” he smiled, “And I can always sniff you out if all else fails.”

Romy giggled, sniffing at the air. She was five years old and starting Kindergarten. Derek had debated for a while whether to enrol her in a public school, but Romy was a wolf by birth and her control was far above par – far more excellent than Derek could have imagined. She was just like her mother – her aunt too. Derek couldn’t decide if he saw more of Cora or Laura in her, but both his sisters had been strong and determined women. He liked to think Romy held a part of them both.

Derek found Romy’s shoes while she finished with her cereal, and he couldn’t help but feel his chest swell with pride when he watched her braid her hair down her back. She was so pretty, and he knew she was going to be a heartbreaker.

Romy was quiet all the way to the school, in the backseat of Derek’s Toyota, but that wasn’t unusual. She was a Hale through and through, strong and silent at the best of times. He knew she was nervous, could sense it on her, but she didn’t show it.

“You’ll be fine,” he told her, and she craned her neck to see his face in the rear-view mirror.

“What if the other girls don’t like me?”

“Make friends with boys.”

“You said no boys until I’m twenty-one, Uncle Derek,” Romy pointed out, and Derek fought back a grin.

“I said _thirty_ -one,” he stated, “but that’s not what I meant. You can make friends, Romy. Don’t ever think you have to deny yourself a personal connection just because of what you are or who they are.”

Romy’s face scrunched up, and Derek felt her confusion. At the stoplight, he glanced back at her.

“I mean, make friends. Don’t isolate yourself.”

She was a smart girl; she nodded and let out a satisfactory noise.

“What if my teacher doesn’t like me?”

“Impossible.”

The assembly might have been overwhelming for Derek but Romy was like a duck to water. She was a natural. Derek had to remind himself that she had claws, when he saw her writing her name at the top of a sheet in pink crayon as she listened to her new principal speaking, like she could take notes on the assembly. He didn’t know where she got her organisation skills from. Not him, or Cora, and definitely not Laura. He refused to think she got any of her traits from her father’s side.

Derek worked as a copy editor for a publishing company in the city. He started at 11:30 (the job, it was a distraction - he didn’t need the money), but punched in early because Romy’s school was actually a lot closer to the office than he expected. It was a long afternoon, but at 2:30 he was ready to collect Romy – having been already missing her from the moment he left the school parking lot. He was trying not to be one of those overemotional parents on the first day of school, but it wasn’t really working.

In the past, Derek might have been good at building walls and keeping guards up, but something about having a kid softened him. He’d needed to change himself for her, for the better, and he did. There wasn’t a day that he regretted opening up to her.

That afternoon, Romy climbed into the car with a shriek of laughter and a smudge of blue paint on her cheek, claiming she loved school and never wanted to stop going. Derek wondered how old she would be when that changed.

•

They got into a routine easily enough, which suited Derek fine. He liked organisation even if he wasn’t good at it, and Romy took the lead. She set the pace for them in the morning, and they were always on time. She even got into a routine of only wearing her hair in a certain style on a certain day, and that definitely reminded Derek of someone ( _ahem_ ) back in Beacon Hills, but he didn’t dwell on it too long, because most days he did miss the place he used to call home. But Romy was his home now. Romy was his future plan.

It was on a Wednesday morning, however, that Romy seemed overly _eager_ to get to school, more so than usual, and Derek got a hand on her shoulder just before she tried climbing out of the Toyota. After Peter’s (second) death, he’d become the alpha again, and Romy had recognised that since day one. She immediately pulled back.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so antsy this morning?” he asked,

She bounced up and down a little.

“I need to _go,_ Uncle Derek, Mr Stilinski is taking us to the lab today, he’s gonna show us how to make a volcano!”

Or, at least, that’s what he _thinks_ she said. Romy had a habit of talking awfully fast. And anyway, he tuned out about eight words into that sentence.

“Mr _what?!_ ” he asked, eyes widening, but she had jumped out, and was running across the playground to the school doors. He briefly felt pride over how independent she was, but it was quickly quashed by confusion, and a strange feeling of hopefulness.

It couldn’t be.

But how many _Stilinskis_ are there out there. And how many of them had wanted to be Kindergarten teachers? There was only one he knew of, and the kid fit into both categories.

Surely Stiles wasn’t in Chicago. Because, when Derek left, Stiles was well on his way to becoming the emissary for Scott’s pack, just seventeen, fumbling and flailing and determined. Derek counted on his fingers – Stiles would have turned twenty-five in April. He could be finished college, student teaching maybe? And anyway, Derek didn’t know what kind of qualifications you needed to teach _Kindergarten_. Stiles probably wouldn’t have even needed a class to be able to do it. He remembered him as being basically a five year old anyway.

But that was the Stiles that Derek _used_ to know, and if anyone knew how much one’s life could change in seven-and-some years, it was Derek.

He pulled out of the school parking lot, haphazardly glancing around for a glimpse of metallic blue in any of the other vehicles around, in the Staff parking area. There was none, and Derek frowned.

It _couldn’t_ be. Could it?

•

He tried to question Romy at dinner that evening, and she told him everything he needed to know.

“What does he look like?”

“Who?” she asked innocently, spearing her mac’n’cheese with her spork.

“Your teacher. Mr-”

“Mr Stilinski lets us call him Stiles now, sometimes. He’s not s’posed to,” she giggled.

Derek dropped his damn spork.

“He’s got funny hair and speckles on his face.”

“Oh.”

Romy wrinkled her nose, which meant she was thinking too hard, and then she said, “He smells like a wolf. But he’s not.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but wasn’t surprised. Stiles probably still smelled like Scott, Isaac, and whichever wolves were part of the McCall pack now. But still, Romy should have told him sooner.

“Romaine, you should always tell me when you scent other wolves.”

“Are you mad?” she asked quietly.

“Not this time,” he murmured, “But only because I know your teacher. He used to be- I used to know him when I was younger, I think. I trust his judgement with wolves.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at her plate, “You knew Mr Stilinski? Were you friends?”

Derek paused. That was exactly the word he’d been avoiding. He and Stiles had never exactly been friends, but there had always been that weird – but strong – pull between them. A sort of tension. They had worked well together when it was warranted.

“We got along when we needed to,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Romy, I don’t want you to mention this to him until I can be sure that it’s safe for him to know about you.”

“I thought you trusted him.”

“I do. With _my_ life. Not with yours. I trust no one with your life. You’re too precious, baby.”

“Okay,” she said brighter, pushing her plate away, “I’m full. Can I play now?”

“Finished your homework?”

“Yep.”

“Then go right ahead,” he smiled at her, and she pushed back from the table, disappearing down the hall to her bedroom. Derek sighed and poked at his food, not very hungry anymore, trying to figure out what to do about Stiles.

•

The next day he spotted a familiar looking Jeep in the staff parking lot behind the school, and he was amazed that a) the old piece of junk was still working and b) Stiles hadn’t outgrown its dorkiness yet. And damn, there was an MIT bumper sticker on the – yep you guessed it – rear bumper. How the _hell-_ Nope. He’s a _Kindergarten_ teacher.

•

Derek felt kind of sick, anxious, but he walked in to school with Romy on Monday, the following week, her hand curled around his, but he guessed it was her supporting _him_ and not vice versa. She could probably feel the nerves rolling off him in waves.

“This is my classroom,” she said, and tugged Derek’s shirt to kiss him on the cheek, before running into the room. And then Derek looked up and sort of choked because he hadn’t really believed it up until then but it must have been an extreme case of serendipity for Stiles to end up, not only in Chicago like Derek, but _teaching his niece_.

The bell rang, and Derek flinched at the noise, but Stiles just looked up at the class before him as he leaned on his elbows over the desk, grinning at the five year olds that ran rampant. He chased after a girl in a pink tutu for a moment, laughing before he circled back to his desk.

“Okay, settle down ladies and gents. I’m gonna take attendance.”

Surprisingly, the kids did what he asked, and Derek thought that maybe _that’s_ why Stiles wanted to teach. No one ever listened to him (really) in Beacon Hills. But his students listened.

He got through _Anna Brandon,_ _Joshua Fletcher_ , _Jeremy Garcia_ and a couple of others before he reached the H’s on the attendance list, and Derek didn’t miss Stiles’ faint smile as he called out, “Romaine Hale.”

“Here,” Romy called, raising her hand, and Stiles spared her a glance – still smiling – before ticking her name off on the attendance sheet. Stiles finished calling the roll, and Derek couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on the doorframe. Stiles glanced over, and then did a double take, promptly snapping up to attention.

Immediately, his gaze went from Derek, to Romy, to Derek and his mouth fell open in surprise and awe – an expression Derek had never grown tired of back home.

“No way,” he muttered, “She’s yours?”

Derek couldn’t place it – something like _disappointment_ in Stiles’ voice. Derek didn’t want to think about that too hard.

“I don’t want to interrupt your class,” Derek said, “I just… Romy said her teacher was a ‘Mr Stilinski’ and how many other Stilinskis are there in North America?”

“Not many,” Stiles answered still looking dazed, as if the answer was purely automatic. Then he left the desk and moved towards the doorway. Derek stepped back out into the corridor. Stiles’ shoulders filled up the doorframe in a way Derek didn’t remember them doing before.

“Wh- what are you doing here?”

Stiles seemed nervous and edgy, and– Derek didn’t want him to feel like that. It was too suddenly reminiscent of their old lives.

“Nice to see you too.”

“Don’t…” he muttered, frowning a little, shaking his head.

“I live here,” Derek explained, “Have for roughly seven years now. You?”

“Went to college nearby. Dad put in for a transfer when he couldn’t take, y’know, the _literal_ supernatural beacon we lived in. He’s here in Chicago now, so I came along too. You have a _daughter_?” Derek saw Stiles glance down at his hand, eyebrows raised at the lack of wedding band.

“She’s Cora’s.”

Stiles’ eyebrows travelled higher, if possible.

“I don’t-”

“Cora’s… uh, dead.”

Stiles fell silent, eyes darkening. He shook his head, knuckles going white against the doorjamb. The class had gone into chaos behind him without supervision.

“I have a _class_ to run Derek but I swear to god you will tell me everything. _Cora,_ Jesus. How long-”

“Just under six years.”

“Six ye- _Derek.”_

“I’m sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. And I don’t have time for this right-,” Stiles glared, eyebrows drawn as he pulled back from the doorframe, “I have a class. I have- I have a _class_. Children. Your _niece_. Damnit, Derek.”

“That’s a bad word, Mr. Stilinski,” Romy said, where she had snuck up behind them. She curled her fist in the leg of his jeans, and that seemed to snap Stiles out of whatever curiosity-fury-fusion thing he was feeling towards Derek in that moment.

Stiles crouched down and held out his palms. She placed her tiny hands in his, giggling. Derek’s stomach twisted, clenched, some sort of funny movement he wasn’t expecting but- yeah. Stiles had been at least an _acquaintance_ , if not a friend. Derek missed his friends.

“Well,” Stiles murmured, down at Romy’s level, “How about we crack open a box of Reese’s and just not tell anyone about that? Just between you and me.”

Of _course_ Stiles bribed his students.

Romy looked excited at the prospect of chocolate, and Stiles stood up, taking her hand to lead her back into the room.

“Stiles-” Derek called.

“We’ll talk later,” Stiles hissed over his shoulder. So Derek turned and left. He needed to get to work.

•

Derek parked and walked into the school to collect Romy, rather than pull up at the collection zone as usual. She was sitting at her desk, colouring. The room was empty bar her and Stiles, who was sitting on a chair that was far too small for him.

Derek cleared his throat, and Stiles lifted his head, but Romy just continued her colouring.

“Hi,” Derek said, and pulled up his own chair before Stiles could extract himself from his.

“Hiya, Uncle Derek,” Romy hummed, nonplussed.

“Whatcha drawing, kiddo?” he asked, leaning over to see what she was up to. Unsurprisingly, he saw a pink castle. Pink castles were her speciality. But all the while, he still felt Stiles’ apprehension at Derek’s presence in the school.

Derek pulled back and turned to Stiles with an eyebrow raised.

“Can we talk?”

“Here?” Stiles asked, frowning as he picked up a blue crayon. His own drawing was a landscape, and he viciously began to colour in the sky. Derek sighed.

“Well. Where do you suggest?”

“I’m not even sure I _want_ to- Jesus, Derek,” he muttered darkly, rubbing his forehead as the crayon cracked under the pressure he applied. Romy reached out and touched his arm meekly.

“Can I stick this on the wall, Mr Stilinski?” She asked him earnestly. He perked up immediately, smiling at her round little face.

“’Course, Punkin. C’mon.”

Derek watched as Stiles stuck some blu-tack to back of the picture, lifting Romy up so she could pin it up on the wall. Romy shrieked and giggled as he set her back down on the ground, and then she ran off to the corner of the room occupied by beanbags and a small shelving area filled with picture books. Derek knew she would entertain herself there while he could talk to Stiles.

“How did it happen?” Stiles asked eventually, jerking his head towards the teacher’s desk. Stiles leaned up against the front of it nervously playing with the tail of his plaid shirt (some things never change) that peaked out from the bottom of his sweater (some things made an effort to look responsible).

Derek raised an eyebrow, “What?”

Stiles’ shoulders sagged, “Cora,” he said weakly, “How did she-”

Derek folded his arms, but the gesture wasn’t meant to look intimidating, it was just the stance he took when he had resigned himself to talking about the one thing he hated.

“A hunter. Romy’s father.”

Stiles’ mouth fell open, abject horror, – _again_ , that look sent Derek way back when – and then snapped it shut, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh my _god_ , Derek,” the words came out strained, and Derek could _feel_ the panic emanating from him, “I can’t. I- _Cora_.”

Romy’s ears pricked up at the mention of her mother’s name. Derek made sure to talk about Cora often, making sure Romy knew who she was and never forgot. Making sure _he_ never forgot. There had often been days when he had either become so content or so self-obsessed – opposite ends of the spectrum for Derek – that he’d forgotten to spare a thought to his family. And he shouldn’t have ever let that happen. They deserved to be remembered always.

Romy stood up, standing timidly behind her alpha.

“You knew my mommy?”

Stiles looked up from his hands, too distraught to even plaster on a smile. He slid down until his back was pressed against the desk, and Romy rocked forwards, with her hands on his steepled knees. The rapport between her and Stiles after such a short time surprised Derek, but he knew it shouldn’t be surprising at all. Stiles always had _some_ sort of effect on the Hales. Why would Romy be any different?

“I knew her pretty well,” Stiles admitted, nodding his head, “saved her life once.”

The look on his face said the unspoken words. _I couldn’t save it twice though._

That was Stiles though. Consciously, unconsciously, he always took the blame of death upon himself. Derek thought Stiles had absolutely no reason to blame this on himself, but Stiles obviously had his own whys and wherefores. He’d done it before, with his mother’s death, with Heather’s, even with Erica. Now Cora was just another headstone Stiles felt guilty over – a façade that was achingly familiar on him, to Derek.

“Why do you feel guilty?”

“I wanted to come look for you guys. I never did. After a while I barely gave you two a second thought.”

“I wouldn’t have, either,” Derek pointed out, “If I were you.”

Stiles just frowned down at his lap, and then Romy reached forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. She gave Derek a strange look, as if she was surprised that _she_ was the one who had to comfort Stiles, and not Derek. She was young, but Derek always knew she was intuitive. She could sense the connection too.

•

“I like Mr Stilinski,” Romy said, dropping her schoolbag immediately as they got in the door, and Derek just picked it up and followed her into the kitchen.

“Mmm,” Derek hummed in agreement.

“You like him too,” she said, nonplussed, picking up a My Little Pony she had left on the tale this morning, and resuming her play. It was completely a statement, no room for a questioning tone. Derek wondered who was _really_ the alpha in the house.

She looked up at him when he didn’t answer, “Uncle Derek?”

“I do, Romy,” he said softly, “I do. He’s an old… friend.”

“Older than me?”

Derek laughed, and started getting some various pots/pans from the cupboards to start on dinner. He didn’t like thinking about how domestic he’d really become, but times like these, he didn’t really mind.

“Older than you, sweetheart. Yes.”

•

Stiles was distant, which – it didn’t exactly _hurt_ Derek, but it didn’t just sit comfortable with him. And Derek could understand why there was that coldness, awkwardness. But yeah, he didn’t like it. He realised he missed having friends (?) around, so it was like missing a part of himself – his pack – to have Stiles so close and yet so _far_. Disconcerting – that was the word.

The next few weeks passed as they had before the discovery. Derek dropped Romy off at school as he normally would, picked her up at 3pm – tried not to listen out for Stiles’ voice, heartbeat, anything inside the school, but failed almost every time. It gave him comfort to know that there was in fact a familiar body inside the building with Romy.

But, weeks passing meant the integration of September into October, which meant Romy’s birthday coming up. Normally Derek took her out, maybe for pizza or to the park if she wanted. But this year was the first year she wanted a _party_. It was the first year she had classmates to invite.

He sent her to school in the morning with the invites in her bag, and collected her that evening; she had the proudest smile on her face.

Derek just buckled his seatbelt, when there was a tap on the window.

He rolled down the window to a smiling-but-weary-looking Stiles, wrapped up in a high-collared coat, hands in his pockets as he leaned into the car.

“Hi,” he said, timidly, and Derek tried a smile. The expression seemed to surprise Stiles, who opened his mouth to speak and then promptly closed it.

“Hi, Mr Stilinski!”

Stiles leaned closer to get a peek in at Romy, and Derek’s brow furrowed as he caught a strange scent. Romy had been right. Stiles smelled like a wolf – very faintly, and Derek wouldn’t have even noticed had they been any farther apart – but not any of the wolves Derek knew. But Stiles seemed content, and Derek would have been able to tell if he were in trouble. He didn’t ask. But there was something else that struck him hard from the proximity - a strange pull, from Stiles’ chest. Something thick and dark and aching. Something that hadn’t been there when he left the town they used to live in. He wanted to ask Stiles what had hurt him, but it wasn’t his place.

“Hi Romy,” Stiles grinned, before pulling back a touch to get a good look at Derek. He held up a pink envelope, “She invited me to her birthday.”

Derek looked into the backseat. Romy blushed, but grinned at him toothily. For a soon-to-be-six-year-old, she was stealthy. He hadn’t even seen the invitation.

“I didn’t even know that was in there, I’m sorry, Stiles-”

“No, don’t be,” Stiles was obviously trying hard not to beam at Derek, biting down on his lip. Maybe his smiles were reserved for those whose claws he hadn’t seen sunken into one of his friend’s chests, “I’d love to come. I uh, I was just checking with you first.”

Derek’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and Stiles pulled out the little pink slip, the invitations they had specially printed for the occasion, and Romy’s almost illegible childish writing in, of course, pink ink.

“This is where you live?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah,” Derek nodded.

“It’s actually not very far from where I’ve set up camp.”

“That’s… fortuitous.”

Stiles, still biting his lip, allowed himself to finally grin.

“Still not a man of many words, Der?”

Derek was completely taken aback. After avoiding him for so long after the conversation in the classroom, Derek had expected Stiles to be even colder and more distant than before. But it seemed like the time apart had been just what Stiles needed to get his head around what had happened to Derek’s life in the past seven years.

“Thought so,” Stiles nodded, after Derek’s stunned silence, “Anyway. I’ll stop by with some cookies or something.”

He leaned in again to wiggle his eyebrows at Romy, who bounced so excitedly in her booster seat that the car rocked a little. Derek smiled, inhaled, and regretted it as he breathed in Stiles’ scent again. It was – home. It smelled like home.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you then.”

“And we grown-ups can have a chat,” Stiles said, sounding more serious as he stood up straight, and patted the roof of the car, “Okay. I’ll leave you to it. I just wanted to catch you before you left and make sure it’s all okay.”

“See you tomorrow,” Derek said, unable to hold back a smile, as Romy repeated his words with a wave and more bouncing. Derek watched Stiles laugh and back away, bolting back across the car lot to his Jeep. Derek expected him to climb inside and drive away, but instead he opened up the back and pulled out a cardboard  box marked “Art Supplies.”

Stiles grimaced as he maneuvered the box under one arm, and shook his hand out, a waterfall of glitter falling from his palm and onto the ground, simultaneously leaking from the corner of the box, leaving a sparkling trail from his Jeep all the way back to the school as he entered the building again.

Derek was reminded of a time he watched shimmering black ash slipping from Stiles’ fingers instead, creating a barrier, and almost laughed. The kid was still a mess, he’d just substituted the blood and mountain ash for craft glue and glitter.

•

The party went off without a hitch. Derek had children running rampant around the house, parents congregating idly in the kitchen, sipping orange juice – and Stiles showed up as promised, with a box of fresh, warm cookies from the bakery near the school that Derek and Romy loved, and a gift under his arm.

They didn’t get their chance to have a serious chat, what with the other adults lingering and joking around, but Derek made Stiles laugh so hard that orange came out his nose, and Stiles had looked so surprised and delighted, even though he was choking on air.

Stiles was last to leave.

•

Work dragged out twice as long now that Derek looked forward to collecting Romy from school, and talking to Stiles outside the classroom. Once or twice, Derek had caught that scent again, the dark and aching sadness that Stiles emanated, sometimes when talking about home, sometimes just _looking_ at Derek. He’d push his heart down out of his throat where it would leap to, touch Stiles’ arm, and smile reassuringly. Derek was a changed man now. He was determined to surround Romy with positive attitudes and good manners, like how he’d grown up with his mother’s beliefs about goodness and morality.

He wanted to _comfort_ Stiles. That was something he’d never exactly experienced before.

Only, it was somewhere in the middle of Stiles’ rant about his dad going abroad during the midterm while Stiles might _actually_ have time to visit him for once, that Derek found himself touching the back of Stiles’ neck. The tips of his fingers pressed softly into the nape, his thumb resting softly behind the ear – and Derek hadn’t even been aware he’d moved until Stiles let out a noise of protest, a short and cut of exhale. Derek thumbed the skin, felt his pulse against Stiles’, and Stiles murmured, “Albie won’t like that.”

Derek didn’t ask. Albie was the other wolf. The one Stiles had been hanging around with. And maybe that’s why Derek had needed to touch Stiles so badly; in the past he had always been a little rough with Stiles, and Stiles had always smelled like him. But now he smelled off yet _sort-of_ -familiar, and Derek wanted to correct that.

“Possessive. I mean, Albie is. It’s weird. I don’t- I’m _not_ -”

“Okay,” Derek said.

Stiles looked as if he wanted to say something, but was desperately trying to cling to the words. His eyes flickered towards Romy, sitting on the floor in the play area.

“Is there someone… who could watch her? I want to talk to you alone some time.”

Derek nodded. “There’s this woman next door. She’s- she knows too much,” he said it too fondly for it to be anything but a blessing, that June Laurence next door adored Romy, and often offered to take her off Derek’s hands for a night or so.

“You can come over to mine,” Stiles said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Derek murmured, and at Stiles’ vaguely hurt expression, began to clarify, “This other wolf…”

“Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Derek stopped having to check Stiles’ heartbeat for lies a long time ago, picking out lies by the twitch of his eyebrows. But Stiles’ face was perfectly still.

“Okay.”

“No seriously, come over and- what?”

“Okay. I’ll come over.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, looking momentarily stunned, “Okay, I’ll cook.”

“Okay.”

“Alright,” Stiles beamed, crossing his arms over his broad shoulders. He bounced on the balls of his feet, vibrating with energy, like there was something inside him pushing its way out wanting to be seen, “I’ll cook.”

“No.”

•

Ms Laurence thinks he has a date, “And why shouldn’t you, you’re a handsome man, Derek. A catch.”

“Not a date, June,” Derek said, letting Romy slip off his hip and run to the woman in question and throw her arms around her. June was the closest thing Romy had to a grandmother and he appreciated the female influence in Romy’s life. Lord knows he was going to need it in a few years from now.

“Then what’s got you all cleaned up?” June asked, looking Derek up and down curiously.

He didn’t think he was too dressed up. Jeans and a simple black shirt, sleeves rolled up. Casual but… nice.

“Just seeing an old friend,” Derek shrugged, “Haven’t seen him in about, seven years-”

“It’s my teacher,” Romy piped up, clutching June’s skirt, “Mr Stilinski. I like him a lot. Uncle Derek says he likes him a lot too.”

June raised an eyebrow, and Derek felt his cheeks flush.

“Like I said. Old friend,” He kept his voice level, cool.

“Right,” June smiled conspiratorially, “Have fun, Derek. We won’t wait up.”

Derek cuddled Romy goodbye, letting her nuzzle his cheek and plant a wet kiss on his face as he squeezed her close. She was always going to be the most important thing to him.

It was only a five minute drive following the directions Stiles had given him. Derek didn’t have much time to overthink, to wonder what the hell he was doing.

He could feel it from the moment he pulled up in the driveway, could hear a second heartbeat in the house, but also could hear Stiles’ heartbeat too, relaxed (or as relaxed as his usual frantic self could be) and that put Derek a little more at ease. He climbed out of his jeep, parked next to Stiles’, and rang the doorbell.

A young woman answered, and Derek’s face contorted in surprise.

She was a good deal shorter than him, full-figured and curvy. She looked up at him with sharp blue eyes, and her small, pink mouth curved into a smile as she set her sights on him.

“Wow,” she said, and then turned over her shoulder, “YO STILES, HOTTIE McBROODY-WOLF IS HERE.”

Derek heard Stiles whine and tried not to smile.

“I’m Ailbhe,” she said, and he fully noticed her accent then - she’s Irish, “Ailbhe MacTíre.”

Realisation dawned on him. He remembered her pack. His mother had known the MacTíres very well, like she had known many other packs across the continent. He remembered Caoilinn and Niall visiting in New York after the fire, giving their condolences to him and Laura.

“Derek,” he said, stunned.

“Hale,” she nodded, “I remember you.”

He didn’t remember her in particular, but he didn’t mention that and she stood back to let him into the house as a harried looking Stiles appeared with a towel thrown over his shoulder. Ailbhe looked back at him and grinned.

“Okay, Jaysus, calm down. I’m leaving, I’m leaving!”

Stiles looked briefly relieved as he smiled at Derek, “You’ve met Albie.”

“She said her name was Alv-” Derek began, only for Ailbhe and Stiles to both begin talking at once.

“We met online-”

“How was I supposed to know-”

“He didn’t _even bother_ looking up how to say it-”

“I don’t speak _Gaelic_ -”

“Fuckin’ Gaelic, Stiles, are you for real, do you even listen, it’s _Irish_ , don’t-”

“Same freaking thing!”

“Oh my god, I’m leaving,” Ailbhe breathed, folding her arms, “I can’t argue with you. I can’t argue with him!”

Derek huffed out a laugh, which sort of petered out when Stiles kissed her goodbye.

“Tell your mom I said hi.”

“She’s not a _mom_ , she’s a _mammy_. That’s just wrong, Stiles.”

“You can’t change me, woman. It’s been four years. You can’t change me.”

Ailbhe sighed and climbed into the Jeep, not before she and Stiles exchanged a loud _I love you_ across the driveway. Derek suddenly felt awkward, definitely confused. Stiles shut the door and leaned up against it with a content sigh.

“See? Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Stiles was a good cook. He put it down to years of cooking for his father and learning how to fend for himself and YouTube tutorials et cetera and so on. But Derek, from the table, watched him putting the finishing touches to their meal and couldn’t find it in him to call it anything other than natural instinct.

“I hope salmon is good with you. You like fish, right?”

“Love fish,” Derek commented, eyes on the frying pan. He’d known what it was already, could smell it from the driveway.

“And, it’s healthy.”

“You still hung up on all that healthy stuff?” Derek asked, smirking, “You used to drive your dad crazy with that.”

Stiles looked startled momentarily, and then he smiled back.

“Didn’t think you noticed.”

“Your dad already hated me. He just seemed to hate me more whenever you cooked.”

Stiles shrugged, “After my mom… after _that_ , he stopped paying attention to his health. I needed to fix that. I still fix it. I call him out constantly and always get Melissa onto him about his health. I have everyone at the precinct warned too, if they so much as see him _glance_ at a McDonalds, I will be there and I will handcuff him to me personally, if it needs to be done.  I mean, I know it’s annoying but I want him around for as long as… possible-”

Derek was still smirking when Stiles turned around, flushed, and Derek wondered if it was from the heat as he cooked, or from the almost-rambling.

“You haven’t changed,” Derek muttered, resting his chin on his forearms that were crossed on the table.

“I hope that’s not true,” Stiles said, demurely, taking two plates out of the oven. Derek raised a questioning eyebrow, but stayed placidly by the table. Stiles took the initiative and continued with, “I didn’t like who I was before. But I’d become resigned to the fact that I couldn’t change that. I think I’ve grown up since then. I didn’t like who I was.”

“I did,” Derek said, before he could stop himself. Stiles gave him a funny look out of the corner of his eye, and shook his head.

“You didn’t know me.”

“Of course I did,” Derek protested. Stiles placed a plate down in front of him and then sat opposite, leaning his elbow on the table, “You were… our rock, I guess? You filled in the gaps and connected the dots. Glue.”

Stiles smiled down at his plate.

“They’re all doing fine without me.”

Derek’s lips pulled down at the corners, and he shrugged.

“Well. _I_ needed you, anyway. I know you were never really on my side, but it helped to have you there.”

“I was always on your side,” Stiles said, quietly, “I just… I was trying hard not to be. Seems stupid now.”

Derek didn’t ask what that meant, unsure that he wanted to really know. But his mind sort of ran with it.  They ate quietly for a few more moments, before Stiles cleared his throat and sat up a little.

“What have you been doing? Big Bad Wolf in the Windy City. What’s with that? How did you end up here?”

Derek poked at a baby potato with his fork.

“Cora met Joey here. Got pregnant. Had Romy. After she died, it seemed kind of tedious to move back home with a baby. Plus, there were all those memories.”

Stiles looked dejected, “It’s just you and her, now, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, that’s all the family you could need,” Derek could see that Stiles meant that – every word of it. Out here in Chicago it was just Stiles and his dad, like it had been back in Beacon Hills.

“I don’t want to forget Cora. I don’t want Romy to grow up not knowing about her mother. But it’s hard to talk about her sometimes.”

“Hey,” Stiles lifted his head slightly, “At least I’m around now. Two people carrying the memories. I remember Cora too.”

Derek felt _relief_. Which was not what he expected to get from Stiles, at all, but he took it.

All of what they were doing, though out of character, felt weirdly normal. Stiles grabbed them both a beer – though Derek couldn’t get drunk – and settled down on the couch in his little living room, with his feet pulled up, and Derek followed him without a thought.

Now that they were spending time together, Derek properly got to see how the past seven years had affected and aged Stiles. He was still young, twenty-five years old, but his face had changed. It wasn’t noticeable right away, but he was thinner, leaner, his cheekbones sharper, jaw more defined. It made his shoulders look broader, his waist slimmer, his arms stronger.

This was what Stiles becoming an adult, a _man_ , looked like.

“I feel like… I feel like tonight we’ve talked more than we ever did in our entire time in California,” Stiles said after a while, and Derek found himself way too concentrated on the way he swallowed, lips around the neck of his beer bottle.

“I wanted to be a good parent,” Derek replied, forcing his face upwards, “I wanted to be more open and warm. For Romy.”

“It’s… nice,” Stiles admitted.

“You seem less… less _what you were_.”

“I grew up too, buddy,” Stiles smirked, nudging Derek’s thigh with his foot.

“Steady job, nice home, cute girlfriend-” Derek began, and Stiles choked a bit, sloshing a little of his beer onto his shirt.

“Albie’s not my girlfriend. _Jesus_.”

Derek cocked his head, and it was a testament to Stiles’ newfound maturity that he didn’t make a ‘puppy’ comment, but Derek was… confused? At least?

“She’s not?”

“No way! What made you think that?”

Derek mouthed wordlessly, until he grasped onto something that wasn’t entirely embarrassing.

“You said ‘I love you,’ to her when she left…”

“I do love her,” Stiles said, “But… I love Scott? I love my dad. I love Isaac’s cookies. Isaac sends me cookies, man. Highlight of my month.”

“But you smell like her- in… an intimate way.”

“She’s cuddly. I’m cuddly. We cuddle. It’s a friend thing, man.”

 _Stiles is all for cuddling._ That was a piece of information for the vault marked ‘Things Not To Be Thought About,” in Derek’s head.

“…You kissed her.”

Now Stiles was the one to cock his head- and Derek had lightening reflexes, could have stopped him any time. But he was curious, and hadn’t exactly caught on to what Stiles was doing when he got up on his knees, and crawled over and then- planted a kiss right on Derek’s cheek.

“I kiss people,” Stiles shrugged, kneeling back, but staying closer to Derek than he’d been before, “I kiss friends. Who _doesn’t_ kiss friends?”

Derek would be speechless, except, “You kissed her _on the mouth_.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, but smiled, “Don’t push your luck, buddy.”

Derek flushed brightly, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“So you’re just friends?”

“Yeah. Not really feeling the whole hetero thing lately.”

That… _pleased_ Derek, weirdly. But at that point he really shouldn’t be surprised. Stiles was an adult now, and _so_ attractive, and _why shouldn’t_ Derek be glad that he’s single, even if he’d never really entertained those kind of thoughts before. (That was a lie. He definitely had entertained those thoughts before, but they were quickly quashed and aggressively avoided.)

“Me neither,” Derek surprised himself by saying.

He was on his sixth (!) beer when he started to feel funny (!!), and looked from the bottle, to Stiles, with an incredulous (!!!) expression.

“I’m drunk.”

“Duh,” Stiles chuckled, sipping his own bottle, only on his third, “You think I live with a werewolf and we don’t have good shit?”

“Uh, I have to drive home.”

“No you don’t. You said Romy was staying with your neighbour tonight. Crash here.”

He couldn’t think of a reason to say no, and he swallowed the last of his beer (and dignity).

•

The room was kind of spinning when Derek opened his eyes, but it almost felt good in a fucked up backward way, because it’d been a _long_ time since he’d gotten drunk without having to drink his way through an entire distillery first. It’d been even longer since he’d gotten drunk with a friend, and Stiles was arguably the best drinking buddy ever- marginally more sober but entirely more reckless.

Then the sounds around him came into focus, and Derek heard panting, smelled sweat, and turned his head to peek over the armrest of Stiles and Ailbhe’s couch.

Stiles stood, back curved and arms stretched over his tilted-back head, shivering as he tried to catch his breath by the door. It was a painfully familiar stance on him, the ache and breathlessness from strain, but this time something was a little different. _Healthy_ sweat, that was. Stiles tipped his head forward again, his cheeks and mouth red with cold.

Derek forced himself to lie back down, keeping an ear on Stiles’ heart rate until it slowed back to something resembling normal before he could look again. He was wearing some sort of running gear, and it was probably _pay-per-view_ to watch the way his chest expanded and contracted inside the lycra with every breath. It was practically pornographic.

And suddenly Stiles was, once again, this new and shiny, attractive thing in Derek’s life. Whatever he was starting to feel needed to be tamped down and waited out.

“You went for a run?” Derek asked blearily, lifting his arm to look at his watch, “It’s 8am, why aren’t you hung-over?”

“Morning sunshine,” Stiles said, accompanied by a groan, and Derek couldn’t help but look to see him bending over to touch his toes, “I know you sort of trump my body mass and you could probably drink me under the table if we went bottle to bottle, but I think you drank like, an entire liquor store last night. I had three beers. That’s why. I’m peachy.”

Derek was still stuck on the fact that Stiles could touch his toes, despite the fact that his legs seemed to _never end_.

“But you went for a _run_ ,” Derek said, “It’s November. In _Chicago_.”

“There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.”

Derek allowed himself to eye the… the _thing_ Stiles wore, and couldn’t fathom how something _that_ fitting, that slinky, could keep Stiles warm.

“That’s good clothing?”

“Thanks,” Stiles smirked, taking the question as a statement, as he gripped the bottom of the long-sleeved shirt, peeling it up over his head in one fluid move. Derek thought he must still be drunk, because his vision swam. Flushed skin, a flash of ink maybe, Derek couldn’t be sure.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower. I’ll be down in 10 to cook breakfast. You can use the shower then if you like, you’ll want to get to it before Albie does.”

Derek hated himself, but he sat up just to watch Stiles’ bare, slender hips as he took the stairs. And he admitted to himself that maybe he _did_ want. Just a little bit.

Ailbhe came down the stairs a bit after Stiles had gone up, and waved her hand towards Derek in a sort-of-greeting.  He heard a car pulling up outside. Ailbhe didn’t say goodbye when she left (just a “It’s okay, I skipped the shower. Going to the gym with Nick,” like it mattered to Derek), but Derek sensed her contentedness, and guessed she wasn’t even fully awake considering how sleepy she looked.

Stiles padded down then, looking more like a teenage version of himself than Derek had seen him in years, wearing an old plaid shirt and jeans, barefoot on the tile. Derek breathed through his nose and had to tamp down a groan, or even a growl and Stiles – _fuck –_ smelled like he’d gotten himself off in the shower. He smelled like _Stiles_. No Ailbhe, no glitter, sticky hands, exhaust fumes, cleaning agents. Just Stiles. Stiles, and _sex_. And the entire morning, even though it’d only been twenty-five minutes at most since Derek had woken, had just been one huge clusterfuck of familiar, all-consuming confusion.

Derek thought, it was the closest he’d felt to home in a while.

_•_

“What flavour is that one?”

Stiles held up an orange coloured jellybean between his index-finger and thumb, and Romy plucked it from them with a chubby hand. She sniffed at it carefully.

“I don’t know,” she hummed, looking contemplative as she popped the bean into her mouth. She chewed carefully and then suddenly her face scrunched up, “I don’t like it. Icky.”

Stiles picked up the bag of Jellybeans and read the back, “What colour was it again?”

“Orange,” Romy supplied, and Stiles’ lips curved into a fond smile.

“Passionfruit,” he mused.

“Hate passionfruit.”

“So did your mom,” Stiles commented, and Derek realised Stiles had begun to pick all the orange coloured jellybeans out of the bag  and place them along his knee, “There you go. No orange ones.”

Derek’s heart swelled, and he cleared his throat, making his presence known to Stiles who jumped slightly, scattering the candies balanced precariously on his thigh. Romy didn’t even flinch.

“Did you say thank you to Mr. Stilinski, Romy?”

“He said I can call him Stiles, ‘cause we’re not at school,” Romy said, peering into the bag Stiles had brought her when he showed up at Derek’s that afternoon.  Derek raised an eyebrow, and Stiles just shrugged, raising an eyebrow back at him.

“I figured that I’m going to be seeing her a lot outside school,” Stiles said, “And yes, she thanked me.”

Derek felt his mouth twitch at that, the thought of Stiles being around more often making his heart quicken. Romy shot him a strange look as Stiles stooped to pick up the sweets he had strewn across the floor.

“Are you okay, Uncle Derek?”

“Sure,” he affirmed, even winking at her but all the while forcing himself to calm down. Romy returned her attention to the Jellybeans, brandishing a green coloured one towards Stiles as he lifted his head to regard her.

“These are my favourite,” she said, “Apple. Green.”

“Good choice,” he enthused, climbing back up next to her, this time his legs tucked under him as he toed off his vans until they dropped onto the floor. Romy twisted towards him gleefully, “Green’s your favourite colour, right? Green and pink.”

“Right,” she said brightly, looking completely enamoured. Derek felt how Romy looked.

“I remember. You drew that picture of your Uncle Derek and told me all about it. You said green was his favourite too-” Stiles snorted suddenly, laughing aloud as he turned to Derek, “Actually, she told me _grey_ was your favourite colour, but that green was a close second, and she didn’t like colouring your clothes in grey.”

Derek tugged on his Henley, “I’m wearing purple,” he pointed out.

“Looks good on you,” Stiles said mildly, and then Romy was pulling on his sleeve, and she and Derek were both vying for Stiles’ attention - ridiculously. Derek rolled his eyes as Stiles bobbed back and forth between them, like a spectator at a tennis match, and he sunk down into the sofa, pulling a giggling Romy into his lap.

“What’s your favourite Jelly bean?” Romy asked Stiles, who opened his mouth to reply but was promptly cut off by Derek.

“The pink ones.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, zoning in on Derek’s face, “There are three kinds of pink ones.”

“The dark ones. Raspberry,” Derek shrugged, and Stiles, - for the first time Derek could ever remember – was unreadable. Romy held a raspberry pink jellybean out for Stiles, who took it with a straight face, and promptly ate it.

“I don’t even want to know how you knew that,” he said to Derek, who actually remembered seeing Scott and Stiles having a confectionary argument/discussion eight years ago in which Stiles professed that nothing would ever beat his favourites.

“I have my ways.”

“Of course you do.”

Romy glanced between them, looking confused as she slumped back against Derek’s chest with a sigh. Reflexively, he bundled her up and snuggled her in under his arm. Romy giggled, squeezing her tiny hand against his bicep, and Stiles watched with a smile on his mouth.

“What’s wrong, pup?” Derek asked her, ignoring Stiles’ choking noise at the pet-name.

“ _Grownups_ ,” she muttered. Stiles chuffed out a laugh as Derek pursed his lips and caught his eye. Romy wriggled off of Derek’s lap and onto the floor, before she stood up and skipped away to her bedroom just down the hall.

Stiles shuffled closer then, reaching over to pinch Derek’s elbow, getting his attention as he dropped his head slightly, worry shifting off him in waves although he still smiled.

“Listen. I came over actually to tell you that Scott is coming to visit me soon.”

Derek turned his head.

“He is?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, and suddenly looked guilty, “He wants to see you, too.”

“You told him I’m here?” Derek asked, frowning.

“I’m sorry. I knew you’d be pissed, I know that I shouldn’t have said anything but,” he shrugged, “Scott knew there was something up with me. Said I looked tense on Skype, sounded nervous on the phone, like I was trying to hide something? Not that I was hiding you! Like, I don’t know, I kind of considered us friends when you left, Derek, I know you didn’t, but _I_ did. And running into you like this? It was pretty awesome. It was like two magnets snapping together, y’know? Opposites attracting. So I guess I was happy, and trying not to be too obvious about being happy, and Scott picked up on that-”

Derek held up a finger, and Stiles immediately shut up, shrinking down.

“I’m not mad,” he said.

“Scott is.”

“I expect that.”

“He doesn’t want me to associate with you.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“I told him to fuck off.”

“That’s-” Derek stilled, and both his eyebrows rose, “surprising.”

Stiles picked at a thread on the tail of his shirt, lifting his eyes warily, “No, it’s not.”

Derek had to fight the satisfied smirk he felt coming on, “Since when have you ever sided with me over Scott?”

Stiles allowed his lips to curve into a slow smile, and lifted his head fully, “We’re different now. Things are different. I’m not a total headcase, and you’re… you’re actually using words to express how you feel, Derek, that’s a huge breakthr- ow!”

Stiles rubbed his bicep where Derek had playfully (Playfully! Derek being playful!) thumped him, laughing as he leaned his head back against the couch.

“You just regressed eight years, man,” Stiles chuckled. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Let Scott come see me. In fact, I invite him into my home. He can meet the pack,” Derek jerked his head towards the bedroom where Romy was playing. He could hear her snapping Legos together.

Stiles grinned, nodding quickly, “Okay,” he said.

“Great. D’you want a coffee?” Derek asked, starting to stand up.

“That sounds great,” Stiles nodded, following him, smelling like surprise and contentment, which melted straight to satisfaction with a hot cup of coffee in between his hands.

•

Derek dreamed of soft, pale skin over ropey, straining muscles, and a slick-pink mouth. He was fully awake when he jerked off in the shower, thinking of tawny eyes and long, wet eyelashes against flushed cheeks.

•

Romy went back to school after the Halloween break without protest, flinging herself at Stiles’ legs as Derek dropped her off at the door of the classroom. Stiles beamed, waved to Derek, before he was being dragged away by a gaggle of kindergarteners.

He had some grocery shopping to do that morning, and other domestic things, and had barely stepped inside Costco when he realised that Ailbhe was there too – he could sense her.

He walked down three aisles, and she met him haflway, a basket resting in the crook of her arm, wearing a maroon trench-coat and a smile.

“Derek Hale,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Everybody’s got to shop,” he shrugged. She smelled like Stiles, like she’d hugged (squeezed) him this morning before he left, an unthreatening scent.

“How’re you doing? Sorry I haven’t been around to talk with you much. My mam’s back in town for a while before she heads back to New York, and then my boyfriend is… well, never mind. Stiles updates me though, regularily.”

“No worries,” Derek nodded, “I’m fine, I’m good. I’ve a lot of free time with Romy in school now.”

“Yeah, Stiles says he’s teaching her? What a stroke of luck, bringing you guys back together.”

Derek smiled involuntarily, and Ailbhe giggled, shaking her head, reddish hair falling over her shoulders in waves. From what he could tell, Stiles revered Ailbhe like one would admire a cool, older cousin, or an old crush. Ailbhe was clever and a little snappish sometimes, reminding Derek of Lydia Martin. No wonder Stiles hero-worshiped the girl.

“Lucky is the word,” Derek shrugged, “I don’t have many close friends here.”

“And being with Stiles is like going home?” Ailbhe asked, and Derek’s words got stuck in his throat.

 _Yeah,_ he wanted to say, _it’s like getting some of my family back_ , but words like that don’t mean the same things to humans as werewolves. Home is not a place, it’s a feeling. A person. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he swallowed and watched Ailbhe blush.

“I just mean-”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, cutting across, “But it’s not- it’s not _that_.”

She smirked, “yet.”

Derek choked out a laugh, and Ailbhe rolled her eyes.

“You reek of denial, Hale.”

“I do not.”

“Are you going to ask him out?”

Derek almost took a step back, but stopped himself, “Uh.”

“Like, a date. Do you want to date him?”

“Stiles and I aren’t-” he took a breath, and let his shoulders slump forward. A sign of weakness he would kick himself for later, “This amiability between us- I mean to say, back home, we weren’t the best of friends. He was barely tolerable to me in the beginning, but we started to... I don’t know. I don’t know why.”

Ailbhe looked almost like she pitied him when she replied, “It’s because he’s a good, honest, person, Derek. And you want those kind of people in your life. And because he obviously cares about you.”

Derek– didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“And, he’s not terrible to look at either, is he?” she asked, a smile tipping up the corner of her mouth. Derek folded his arms and looked down at his feet, hiding his grin half-heartedly.

“Yeah,” he said again, “He’s really not.”

Ailbhe grinned right back at him, switching her basket over to her other arm and reaching into her pocket. She pulled out her phone, and scrolled through it for a moment.

“So, bimonthly I drag Stiles to this Irish Pub downtown called _Oh, Brian’s_ ,” she said, “We do a _Grúpa Ceoil_ session, it’s- I play Irish traditional music with this group, and make Nick drive us home when Stiles drinks too much afterwards. It’s on this Friday evening, you should come along.”

Derek’s thoughts immediately went to Romy, and he said, “Babysitter. I don’t know if I can get one so soon.”

“Oh, it’s a family thing,” Ailbhe assured, “Bring Romy along. I really want to meet her, the way Stiles talks about her you’d think she was the only child in his class.”

Derek smiled at that, “Really?”

“He adores her,” she nodded, “Bring her along, we’ll have a good evening. We’ll pick you up in the Jeep.”

Derek knew when he was beaten, knew it all too well. He couldn’t back down from this. It was almost a challenge.

“Okay. Alright, yeah. Friday evening.”

“Great,” she smiled, “Give me your number, I’ll text you the address. I know we’re picking you up, but it’s a great place. You should check it out.”

Derek took her phone, typed in her number and handed it back to her, and a second later his phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the text, and laughed aloud.

“ _Oh_ ,” he said, “ _Brian’s_.”

“Brian is my main man,” Ailbhe said, “Listen, Derek, I gotta go. I’m meeting Nick for  brunch at his place, and I wanna take these groceries home first.”

“Boyfriend priorities,” Derek said, nodding.

“But, listen. You’ll remember what I said?”

“Stiles is a good person,” Derek said, almost rolling his eyes, “I want him in my life. He cares.”

“Now you’ve got the idea.”

“I care about him too, Ailbhe”

“Yeah man, make sure he knows.”

Derek was smiling as he watched her go, understanding why Stiles kept her around. She was bright and positive and fierce, and obviously didn’t take no for an answer.

•

Derek made it through the week without freaking out, before he realised that Ailbhe had essentially set him up on a double date with her, her boyfriend, and Stiles. Oh, and his niece would be tagging along too. So it wasn’t exactly a date, but, still.

Romy threw herself at Stiles, as usual, and he lifted her up in his arms, propping her up on his hip.

“You look _so_ pretty, Romy,” he  told her, grinning, and then smiled even _wider_ if possible when he saw Derek, “Aw, Der, you look so pretty too.”

Romy had insisted on putting one of her butterfly clips in the front of Derek’s hair, so it pinned back the longer hair he usually styled up. Stiles seemed overjoyed by it.

“I bet the moms go wild for that,” he teased.

“Apparently, so do kindergarten teachers,” Derek said, and that put an end to Stiles’ mockery, as he smirked, rolled his eyes, and turned to walk down the steps towards the Landrover pulled up front.

“Humans in the front, wolves in the back.”

There was a man in the passenger seat, broad, with fair and freckled skin, and dark hair that was starting to get a little long, flicking out at the edges. Derek guessed this was Nick. Ailbhe sat in the back, and helped him strap Romy into the middle seat before he buckled himself in.

“Nick,” Ailbhe said, “This is Derek, and this is Romy. Guys, this is my boyfriend Nick.”

Nick turned around, gave them a wave and a grin, and reached out to Romy – probably to shake her hand in the exaggerated way adults do for kids, but instead she sniffed his hand and he laughed.

“Hey cub,” he said, and his voice was much higher than Derek had expected, but a little hoarse and pitched, a little Michael J. Fox, “What’s your name?”

“Romaine,” she said, taking his hand, “Call me Romy.”

“I _will_ call you Romy. Did you know Romaine is a kind of lettuce?”

Derek mentally slapped his hand over his face, tried not to laugh. Romy looked confused, and Stiles actually did burst out laughing as Ailbhe reached around to flick the back of Nick’s head.

“Nicholas!” she hissed, embarrassed.

“Well it is,” he pointed out.

“It was my father’s surname before he married into the pack,” Derek explained, “My mother was the Alpha, so he took her name.”

“Ah,” Nick said, reaching out to shake Derek’s hand too. Kid had a strong grip, and Derek kind of liked him already. He figured, if Stiles trusted him, Derek could trust him too. And if he was human like Stiles said, and still accepted Ailbhe for who she was, then he was a good person in Derek’s eyes. Not all people were that understanding. Very _few_ people, in fact, were that understanding.

Then something occurred to Derek.

“Hold up, this isn’t your Jeep, Stiles.”

“It’s in the shop,” he shrugged, “This is my dad’s.”

“How _is_ the Sheriff?”

“Still sheriffing. Well, kind of. He’s not a sheriff anymore, it’s some weird city title, but I just can’t get my head around it. It’s like he got demoted, but he didn’t.”

“He’s coping with the normality of city life?” Derek asked, surprised he hadn’t gotten around to asking before now.

“It’s not that much different. Murders and accidents everywhere, but this time it’s just humans killing other humans.”

Luckily, Romy didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what Stiles was saying. Nick’s arm was reaching back between the two front seats of the car, and Romy was carefully inspecting the many bracelets and beads wrapped around his wrists.

“I like this one,” she announced brightly, tugging on an amber and sky coloured weave that was about a centimeter thick and weirdly, made Derek think of Stiles. Nick glanced back.

“Do you want it?” he asked. “I have too many, really.”

Romy’s eyes went wide, and Derek saw Stiles smiling from the rear-view mirror.

“Really?” she asked, and Nick pulled his arm back to untie the band.

“Yeah, sure thing,” he said, handing it over.

“What do you say?” Derek murmured to her.

“Thank you, Nick,” Romy said, sounding awed and content, and Ailbhe fastened the bracelet on her wrist, double looped as the little girl’s arm was a lot smaller than Nick’s.

It was dark when they reached the pub, which was decorated outside with white christmas lights already, and inside the walls were covered with various memorabilia. It was warm and quaint, all dark wood and patterned wallpaper. There were kids running amongst the tables, and if Derek had been apprehensive about bringing his niece along before, he wasn’t anymore. It definitely seemed like a family atmosphere

They settled on a low table near a clearing where there were stools set up, and Derek only then noticed the case that Ailbhe was carrying with her.

“Violin?” he asked.

“Fiddle,” she said, nodding, “I’m gonna go find the others and set up.”

Nick said, “I’m going to get us all drinks of the non-alcoholic variety. Brian has this rule when there are kids in the bar. He’s a good guy. What does Romy drink?”

“Water,” Romy supplied brightly, “please.”

Nick looked surprised, but nodded, “Alrighty, love,” and Stiles directed Derek down onto a seat and crowded in next to him with Romy on his lap.

“What do you think of my friends, Romy?” Stiles asked, idly curling one of her ringlets around his pinky. Derek couldn’t help think that it was very representative of how Romy already had Stiles wrapped around _her_ little finger.

“The girl is nice. She smells like Uncle Derek, but different. _She’s a wolf!_ ”

Romy whispered the last part into Stiles’ ear so no one else would overhear, and Derek smiled encouragingly at her.

“I know, I live with her.”

Romy nodded, “ _You_ smell like her too.”

“And what about Nick?”

“He gave me this bracelet,” she said, waving her fist at Stiles, “So I like him too. He’s pretty cool.”

Stiles glanced over at Derek, a smirk tugging at his lips, “Hear that? You’re stuck with us.”

Derek rolled his eyes as Nick returned with a pitcher of cola, a pitcher of water and a Red Bull for Stiles. He set the tray down as people started to occupy the seats in the middle of the room, and the lights dimmed slightly. Ailbhe stood more towards the side, a pleasantly-worn looking violin (or fiddle, whatever) in one hand, and she propped it lazily under her chin.

The music began, fast and lively and ridiculously cheerful, and Romy clapped her hands excitedly. It didn’t take long for people to begin dancing, clearing space in the middle of the floor to perform a routine that consisted of ducking under bridges made of hands.

Stiles bounced Romy on his knee in time to the music, her hands gripping his, still clapping together.

There was a three-song set and then a break, in which some people sat down, but then a young girl with a hand-held drum and a stick at the front of the trad group announced something that sounded like “Merchant of Venice,” and suddenly even more people were standing before, including Nick.

“Come dance with me,” he said to Romy, holding out his hand. Romy turned her wide, green eyes back towards Derek, silently asking persmission. He nodded, and she jumped down off of Stiles and ran after Nick, joining onto one of the lines of four that were forming on the floor.

“What is this called?” Derek asked, close to Stiles’ ear, and loud over the chatter and cacophony of the various group members testing their instruments.

“ _The Siege of Ennis_ ,” Stiles ennunciated slowly, “Don’t mistake it for a Shakespearian play, Albie might kill you. I speak from experience.”

The dance was this weird back and forth routine, with switching partners, back to back, and more ducking under bridges.

Derek kept an eye on Romy, but Nick never let her out of his sight once, earning even more of Derek’s trust.

“This is crazy,” Derek said, and Stiles leaned in.

“What?” he shouted over the noise of the music.

“This is crazy!” he shouted back, “ _You_ don’t have to shout, _I_ can hear you fine.”

“Got it!” Stiles yelled, and then bit his lip, lowered his voice, “Got it. Right. Yeah, crazy. It’s like this every time. People get really into it.”

Even though Derek could hear him fine, Stiles still kept close, murmuring whatever he had to say into Derek’s ear, leaning back against his shoulder as he watched the dancing, and the musicians, and drank his Red Bull with odd serenity, despite being surrounded by complete chaos.

To add to that, they were pushed even closer together when Stiles pulled their table back, as some of the wilder dancers accidentally knocked against it. Derek tried not to inhale too deeply, although there were probably worse things than essentially drowning in Stiles’ scent.

When the song ended, Nick and Romy returned to the table and sat down, and this time Romy climbed into Nick’s lap and sat on his knee. Yeah, she definitely was _not_ shy.

“You’ve got a little dancer here, Derek,” Nick grinned, pouring Romy a glass of water, and a Coke for himself, “She’s a natural. Half of those regulars out there weren’t even nearly as good as her.”

Romy grinned into her cup, gulping down the water, red faced from the dancing.

“I’m a _fierce contender_ ,” she said, unprompted, and Nick choked with laughter.

Stiles’ knee nudged Derek’s under the table, and he was smiling as he leaned in.

“She is _so much_ like Cora.”

Derek squeezed his shoulder and nodded, feeling sad and elated all at once.

A few more sets were played, there was more dancing, there were a few soloists (including Ailbhe and her fiddle), and shortly before nine o’clock, Romy was falling asleep against Derek’s chest as the music ended.

“We should take her home,” Ailbhe said, and Derek agreed, stroking her hair as Romy blinked up at him sleepily. Most of the other parents and children had gone home, and Derek thought he must be getting old, because he was totally ready to go too. Nick went to go for his and Ailbhe’s jackets, but Stiles reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“You guys stay and have a few drinks. I’ll take them home.”

“Are you sure?” Ailbhe asked, eyebrows drawn together, “We don’t mind-”

“Yeah no, I’m beat anyway. School makes me tired. Long day today. I told you about the fire drill and-”

“Oh yeah,” Ailbhe winced, “Sure. Head home, then. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, I’ll just drop these guys off first,” Stiles said with a smile, turning to look at Derek.

“We can just get a cab,” Derek said, touching Stiles’ arm briefly, “If you want to stay. Don’t feel obliged to drive us.”

“Nah man, seriously. I’m totally ready to go home and watch ER reruns.”

Derek chuckled under his breath, standing slowly as Romy wrapped her arms around his neck, “Okay then. Thank you.”

Nick and Stiles exchanged a brief bro-hug, and he and Ailbhe kissed, and there were promises of “See you later,” from Stiles, and and implicit wiggle of eyebrows of Ailbhe which _clearly_ said ‘or maybe not’ – although Derek wasn’t sure who it was aimed at.

•

The drive home was quiet, Derek in the back of the Landrover making sure that Romy didn’t slump over and hurt herself on the seatbelt, and Stiles driving up front with the music down low.

Outside Derek’s house, he opened the back door, helping Derek get his niece out, and walking with them up to the front door.

“Keys are in my pocket, can you grab them?” Derek asked, arms full, and Stiles laughed softly, humming an ‘okay,’ as he reached into Derek’s jacket pocket. He unlocked the door, and Derek jerked his head towards the hall, encouraging him to come inside.

Once he managed to put Romy to bed, he found Stiles in the kitchen, yawning. It was still early, not even 10pm.

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Stiles said, “You didn’t have to. When Ailbhe said she invited you-”

“It’s fine, I wanted to,” Derek admitted, shrugging, “It was different, not something I’d ever think about going to. Definitely nothing I’ve experienced before. But Romy had fun, so it was a successful trip.”

“Did _you_ have fun?” Stiles asked, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

Derek nodded, “A lot. I haven’t been out like that in a while, but I didn’t really give myself time to freak out, so it went well. And I guess I like hanging out with you, so…” he trailed off, shrugged his shoulders lazily.

Stiles bit down on his lip, shaking his head.

“God.”

“What?”

“You.”

“I…?”

“Keep surprising me,” Stiled blurted, “You’re… Uh.”

“I’m…?”

Stiles slumped down again the countertop, leaning back on his elbow, “You’re so different. You have changed _so_ much,” and then he smiled, small but genuine, “I can’t wait for Scott to see it.”

Derek scratched the back of his head, thankful that it was him that could hear Stiles’ heartbeat, and not the other way around.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Then again, I always liked you. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Derek lifted his head at that, surprised.

“I always got the impression you hated me.”

“I was suspicious. Never hated you.”

“Pretty sure you told me you hated me at least ten times. A week.”

“Teenagers. They do that,” Stiles said, “I was pulling your pigtails.”

“Maybe I was pulling yours too.”

Stiles blushed suddenly, cheeks dark under the fluorescent lights in the kitchen. His heart was like a jackhammer, trying to beat it’s way out of his chest, and Derek finally let himself breathe in his scent.

Scent, for Derek, was a strange thing. There were things that had smells, like vanilla, like grass, like oranges. And then there were people who smelled _like_ things, like how Stiles smelled like rain, and sugar and woodsmoke. And then there was the unique scent of each person underneath that, like the darkness that Stiles smelled of, something deep and thick under that smoky sweetness.

And Derek was used to that smell. He _liked_ that smell.

Then, there were the not so tangible things that had ‘scents’, like emotions. There wasn’t a word for the way emotions felt or smelled. He couldn’t describe sadness like the smell of damp linen, or anger like burnt paper. It was just a feeling, almost a colour that tinted the edges of his senses.

And, just above all that thick, syrupy-rain-smoke smell that Stiles left everywhere in Derek’s kitchen, he felt _want_ , lingering hot and red on the threshold.

Stiles’s heart was still sounding like it was about to beat its way out of his chest.

“Wow, I totally know you can hear that,” he breathed, and Derek smiled slightly.

“I’m glad you can’t hear mine.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, still kinda breathless.

“Are you really just going home to watch ER reruns?”

“Unless you have a better suggestion?”

“I was thinking about watching a movie. Ordering pizza. You should hang around.”

“Sounds, uh, excellent.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s do it.”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“Let’s _watch a movie,_ Jesus, Derek.”

•

Derek woke when the Blu-ray player had gone into blue-screen standby mode, reached out with one arm to slap the red button on the remote, and reached out to pull Stiles closer with the other.

•

Derek woke the second time to hear the soft clinking of cuttlery and ceramics in the kitchen, some murmuring and giggling, and he sat up to look over the back of the couch and into the kitchen.

Romy was standing on one of the chairs, a hand braced against the tabletop, and the other brandishing a spoon at Stiles. There were several bowls spread across the table before them, a carton of milk, spoons, mugs – a general mess of foodstuffs between them. Derek blinked, confused, as Stiles dipped his hand into one of the bowls, sprinkling something that looked suspiciously like muesli into his own bowl.

“Hmm?” he made an inquisitive noise, leaning over the back of the couch to get a better look. Stiles did a double take, lifted his head and smiled as he saw Derek.

“Morning.”

“Morning, Uncle Derek,” Romy said, digging into her bowl with a spoon.

“Is that yogurt?” Derek asked, siting upright and pushing himself off the couch to go investigate. The bowls were filled with various fruits and cereals, things Derek knew he kept around the kitchen.

“Yep,” Stiles said quietly, eyes following Derek as he picked up a spoon, and then he laughed as Derek took a spoonful of what appeared to be blueberry yogurt out of Stiles’ bowl.

“There were Coco Pops in the cupboard, y’know,” Derek said.

“Romy wanted cereal and fruit though. You’ve got a weird kid, Derek.”

“I think it’s, uh, endearing,” Derek murmured, stroking Romy’s hair idly, and trying to ignore the fact that Stiles had called Romy _his_ kid.

Romy finished her bowl of cereal and pushed it away, a few raspberries at the tips of each of her fingers as she slid off the chair. She was still in her pyjamas, as Derek usually let her watch TV for a while on Saturday mornings on the couch. Stiles watched her grab the remote, his eyebrows rising in surprise; the first channel she flipped on was National Geographic.

“Jesus.”

“Hey, what was it you said last night about her being just like Cora?” Derek jibed, filling a bowl for himself.

“What is she even- I don’t know _what_ she is,” Stiles said, shaking his head, “I can’t-”

“I can hear you!” Romy called, only the top of her head visible, and Stiles quickly shoved a mouthful of muesli and blueberry into his mouth.

“I said nothing!” He shrugged, and Romy peered at him – eyes narrowed – over the back of the sofa, and then slowly sank back into the cushions and out of sight again.

“Creepy,” Stiles breathed, “I take it back. She’s all _you_.”

“She just doesn’t like being interrupted while she’s watching her shows,” Derek mumbled into his food. Stiles looked astounded, to put it lightly, but continued eating, the noise of a documentary about geckos humming in the background.

After a minute, Stiles said, into a mug of tea, “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you.”

“You’ve done worse,” Derek said.

“Like.”

“Like, um, nearly cut off my arm.”

Stiles, honest to god, choked on his tea, and Derek reached out to pat him on the back.

“You asked me to do that!”

“I know how you feel about needles. I can’t imagine how you feel about bone saws. It’s pretty great that you agreed to do it.”

“Even better that Scott walked in when he did.”

“I still have two arms.”

“Two great arms,” Stiles muttered, pressing his fingers against his mouth in thought, “Wow, that was so long ago. I didn’t even know you then, really. I barely even liked you.”

Derek snorted, “I barely even liked you too.”

“You like me now though,” Stiles said, and it wasn’t a question, so Derek didn’t answer.

He probably couldn’t have given a straight answer if he tried.

The rest of breakfast was eaten in a comfortable silence, and Stiles even sat down with Romy to watch the end of her documentary, becoming engrossed himself. Derek was reluctant to admit it, but he didn’t hate the idea of having Stiles around the house in a more permanent sort of way. The relationship they had, the new-old-friends thing, was working for the time being, but Derek could already feel the ground shifting out from underneath them.

They were getting closer, not just emotionally, but physically too, and Stiles proved just that when he found his jacket and slid it on, all but pressing his entire body up against Derek’s as he stood in the doorway. Derek could have shifted an inch forward, and they would have been touching chest-to-chest. He was just lucky that Stiles couldn’t sense the _whatever_ it was that Derek was feeling.

 _Attraction_.

“Can’t believe you’re walk-of-shaming me, Hale,” Stiles murmured, his head tipped down as he fixed the collar of his coat, but Derek could still see the smile curling at his lips. _Those fucking lips_.

“An eye for an eye,” Derek shrugged, one-shouldered, remembering the night he fell asleep on Stiles’ couch.

“I stayed the night, made you breakfast – um both times, by the way – and you’re kicking me out in the clothes I left the house in yesterday. Definitely a walk of shame.”

“If I was in your position, I’d be calling it a Stride of Pride,” he shrugged again, “I’m quite a catch. You’re lucky you got the whole night with me.”

Stiles looked as if he was trying his hardest not to laugh, biting his lip in a way that was probably inappropriate for a Kindergarten teacher.

“Albie will have a field day,” he said, “Bet I’m covered in your… I don’t know. Musk. Scent. Whatever you guys call it. I feel like I’ve been marked.”

Derek inhaled quite suddenly, choking on air at the comment alone.

“Yeah,” the word came out strangled, and he nodded his head, “But, you know, you’re bound to smell like me. You _slept on me_.”

“Shhh!” Stiles whispered, covering Derek’s mouth with the palm of his hand. Derek had to resist the urge to lick it. He was not a five year old, damn it, “Romy-”

“Stiles, it’s fine. She’s not paying attention to us,” Derek said, still muffled by an increasingly sweaty palm. Derek was still struggling not to lick it.

Stiles dropped his hand, moving it instead to rest against Derek’s collarbone for a moment- and then he seemed to recover himself, realise what he was doing, and gave Derek a surly pat on the chest.

“Okay. Right. Good. I should go.”

“Tell Ailbhe thank you. For making me go out with you guys last night. It was fun.”

“Yeah. Um. And we should hang out some time, too. Just you and me again. Like the other night.”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded encouragingly, because he could feel just how nervous whatever Stiles was about to say was making him, “Definitely.”

“Like, maybe before Scott comes to visit. Like, next week maybe.”

“You have my number.”

“I do.”

“And I have no life, so. Whenever.”

“You have a kid, and she’s your life,” Stiles said, “I’ve got 26 of them, five days a week. We’re in similar boats.”

Derek smiled and then looked over his shoulder and called, “Hey Romy, come say goodbye to Stiles.”

Romy emerged from her room and attatched herself to one of Derek’s legs as she gazed up at Stiles.

“Bye Stiles.”

“See ya Monday, kiddo,” he said, holding out his fist for her to bump, which she did, “I’ll talk to you later, Derek,” he said then, touching Derek’s arm briefly before he practically bounced down the steps. Once he’d gotten into the Landrover, Derek closed the door and leaned back against it, Romy still clinging to him.

“You love my teacher,” she said, with a very matter-of-fact tone, and then pushed back, so she could _really_ look up at Derek, “That’s okay though. He’s the best.”

Derek was laughing before he could help it, and he bent down to scoop Romy up into his arms, poking her stomach and making her squeal.

“He _is_ the best, isn’t he.”

•

It was a Wednesday afternoon when Derek’s boss, Mrs Douglas, landed him a project, a long article that would need proofing and editing before 5pm that evening. But Derek needed to collect Romy, so he did the only thing he could think of. Call Stiles.

“Derek, what a pleasant surprise.”

“I have a dilema, Stiles.”

There was rustling in the background, and Derek wanted to imagine that Stiles was still a peanut butter cup addict like he was seven years ago, and that he was sneaking chocolate on his lunchbreak where the kids couldn’t see.

“Hmm?” Stiles asked, sounding like his mouth was full (and wow Derek didn’t need that sound _or_ visual at all).

“I have to work late and there’s no way I’m getting out before five. What can I do with Romy?”

“That’s easy, I can bring her home if you like,” Stiles said without hesitation, and Derek couldn’t tell if he was in love or just really, really relieved and glad that Stiles existed.

“Really? Because you know where the spare key is and anyway, June, our next door neighbour will be home and can take care of her-”

“No, Derek, I mean, I’ll take her home with me. To my place. I’ll watch her.”

Heart, totally swelling. Bursting. _Stiles_ , taking care of his kid. Derek’s _niece_. The closest thing to a daughter that he has.

“That’s- are you sure, Stiles? I don’t want to put you out or anything.”

“Dude, it’s all cool. I love her, you know that. It’s no problem,” Stiles said easily, “Me and Albie’ll be there. Be fine.”

“Thanks, Stiles. My boss, just… sort of pounced on me. Must be in a bad mood today or something, because she never does this-”

“Derek, seriously. It’s fine. Fine! Take your time.”

“I’ll be there around 5pm, is that alright?”

“Perfect. I’ll be cooking dinner around that time so you can stay for that, if you like?”

Derek paused over his keyboard, phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you, again. I’ll see you at five.”

“It’s a date!” Stiles chirped, and then he hung up without further notice, and Derek stared down at the phone in his hand, wondering when the hell he and Stiles had gotten to the point where dinner invitations were something that was considered normal between them. The point where Stiles could say _it’s a date_ and Derek wouldn’t feel the urge to glare at him until he shut his mouth.

He sighed and pulled up the doccument he was supposed to be checking, and got on with his work.

Derek parked outside the MacTíre-Stilinski residence just a little after five, and heard Ailbhe and Romy say in unison ‘he’s here,’ and Stiles dropped a – something which made a lot of noise.

The door was flung open before he even got to it, and Romy flung herself at him, and he hauled her up into his arms like she weighed nothing at all.

“We’re having chicked nuggets!” she yelled, and Derek laughed aloud, catching sight of a smiling Stiles inside the door.

“She’s very persuasive,” Stiles shrugged his shoulders, looking broad as ever in a dark v-neck sweater that kind of made Derek’s mouth dry. Ailbhe appeared over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Derek’s sudden change of demeanour upon seeing Stiles. She nudged Stiles gently with her elbow, with made Stiles flush for some reason. “C’mon in,” he said, standing back and sounding a little strangled as Derek brushed past him with Romy on his hip.

“I’m very pro chicken nugget,” Derek placated, setting Romy down again as she got squirmy against him. Ailbhe followed the little girl into the kitchen and Stiles gave Derek’s shoulder a gentle push to follow her.

Over dinner, Romy relayed everything she did at school that day, as she usually did when she got home, as Stiles looked on in mild horror.

“Does she do this every night?” He asked, laughing, as Romy took a breath between sentences.

“Yeah,” Derek nodded, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork, “In great detail.”

“Jeez. I’m under scrutiny,” Stiles muttered, and then looked at Romy, reaching out to touch her arm gently, “Punkin, I interrupted you, I’m so sorry. Hey, tell Derek about that book we read after lunchtime.”

And Romy launched into an enthusiastic tale of Stiles’ reading of Where The Wild Things Are, with voices and sound effects and, Derek was definitely more than smitten. It was unavoidable anymore, really. He (basically) idolised Stiles, and how Stiles acted and spoke and how he interacted with Romy – it was heart-melting, ridiculous.

When he realised both Aiblhe and Romy were looking at him strangely, Derek sat up a little straighter, taking a drink of his water.

Ailbhe started to clear the plates away.

“Hey, Derek, how about I take Romy out and we’ll go get some icecream for everyone?” she asked, and immediately Romy started to whine.

“ _Pleeeeaase,_ uncle Derek,” she whined, clasping her hands in front of him and squealing, pulling at his shirt.

“Will you be good and listen to Ailbhe?”

“Of course.”

“Well, then have fun and be careful.”

Romy pulled him down for a hug, pressing a kiss to his bristly cheek. Ailbhe grabbed the keys of the Jeep off the counter, and Romy took her hand, following her out of the kitchen. As the door clicked shut, Stiles let out a contented sort of sigh.

“You’re such a _dad_.” He said, worrying his lip with his teeth.

“Natural instinct,” Derek said, smiling as he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

“It’s… it’s the last thing I ever expected from you,” Stiles said, something about the tone of his voice incredibly vulnerable, “But it’s nice. It suits you extremely well.”

Derek watched Stiles gathering the cuttlery and setting it into the tray in the washer, and folded his arms as he leaned back against the sink.

“Sometimes I think about adopting her,” Derek said quietly, assuming the same open tone as Stiles had before, “But I think it might confuse her. I’m not her father, she knows that.”

Stiles straightened up, “Romy is _very_ smart, Derek, I think you’d be so surprised. You’re the closest thing she has to a father. You’re her parent. Don’t deny her or yourself that right.”

Derek huffed out a breath of disbelief, and to his surprise, Stiles touched his bicep – fingers tight around the muscle, and pulled him towards him, forcing him to look up, and meet Stiles’ eye.

“No, Derek, I mean it. You’ve been raising her. You’re the real thing.”

He swallowed thickly, nodding, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed, eyes steely and encouraging. His hand slipped down to Derek’s wrist, closing around the strong bone tightly, tighter than Derek expected. But it wasn’t a threat, it wasn’t aggressive. It was almost promising.

Derek took a deep breath, and finally Stiles let go, stepping back to grab a dishcloth and wipe down the table.

“Romy and Albie should be back in like, five minutes,” he muttered, making his way back to the table, “I wanted to talk to you about Scott again.”

Derek lifted his head in interest.

“What about him? He’s still coming, right?”

“Yeah, um, he had to cut his trip short. We’re just going out to lunch on Sunday actually, and you’re welcome to join us.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you’re welcomed by _me_. Not so sure about Scott. Everytime I mention you he gets more and more stubborn.”

Derek shrugged, “I don’t blame him.”

“Yeah, well it’s stupid, okay? Because back then, _he_ was always the one trying to get _me_ to trust you, and now it’s the other way around completely and it just. Ugh. _Pisses_ me off, Derek.”

“Breathe, Stiles,” Derek reminded him, smiling.

“Yeah, I got it,” he muttered, “It’s stupid. But he’s being stupid. If he could see you now, he’d know.”

“Stiles, what Scott thinks of me once he leaves doesn’t matter to me. What matters is what _you_ think of me _now_.”

Stiles froze, hand on the tabletop, until he straightened up and turned to fully face Derek again. His heart was racing, like a hummingbird in his chest when Derek paused to listen.

“You mean that?”

“Of course.”

“Me too,” Stiles said softly, something about him emanating sadness, something dark and heavy that Derek hadn’t felt from him in more than a few weeks, “He’s my best friend, but he knows better than anyone that time can change a person.”

And suddenly that urge was there again, the need to comfort Stiles. For once, he didn’t force it back down, he let it move his body forward, touching his fingers to the side of Stiles’ neck, pulse fluttering under his knuckles. He felt the movement of Stiles’ throat as he swallowed, and then Stiles filled the space, leaning his head into the curve of Derek’s neck. His shoulders relaxed as Derek’s palm rested between Stiles’ shoulderblades, and Derek tried desperately to push down whatever that bright, shining emotion clawing it’s way up his gut was.

“Derek,” Stiles said quietly, but it wasn’t a question, it wasn’t imploring, it wasn’t anything. It was just Stiles acknowledging that _thing_ , that _emotion_ , Stiles saying _he felt it too_.

“Why is Stiles sad?” Romy burst into the room, followed by a flustered-looking Ailbhe, clutching a plastic bag in one hand and reaching out for the girl with the other.

“I tried to stop her,” Ailbhe said, raising her hands in defeat, as Stiles pulled himself back, putting a decent amount of space between him and Derek. Derek missed the contact immediately, but he smiled in understanding at Ailbhe.

Stiles crouched down.

“I’m not sad, Punkin. Are you okay?”

“You smelled sad. I could feel it from outside.” Romy flung herself at Stiles, who looked like a bomb had been dropped on him, “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I’m not sad, Romy, I promise,” Stiles said, petting her hair gently, “I’m very, very happy. Sometimes, when people are happy they cry too.”

“You’re not crying,” she muttered, touching Stiles’ cheek and frowning.

“I almost was,” Stiles said, assuringly, “That’s probably what you felt.”

Romy looked momentarily suspicious, if six year olds could even look suspicious, and Derek stifled a laugh. Stiles was good at placating her, and he – strangely – wasn’t even lying, and he knew Romy could hear that.

“We got Rocky Road,” she said eventually, and Stiles’ face transformed, and he hauled her up into his arms as she shrieked.

“That’s, like, my favourite,” he grinned, and she giggled as he swung her around, before pulling her in again, and Derek was never not going to be utterly besotted with the sight of them together like that.

Ailbhe caught his eye again, sharing the same smile, and mouthed a ‘sorry!’ in his direction, before he waved her off. He and Stiles would have plenty time to pick up where they left off.

•

Derek was lifting a sleepy Romy out of the car when June flung her front door open and ran – pretty quickly for a woman in her seventies – towards Derek, grinning.

“He did it! Henry did it!” she called, and Romy lifted her head curiously as Derek tried to find meaning in the words. He found it finally as June thrust her hand at him, showing off a large engagement ring, “Henry proposed! We’re getting married!”

Derek let out a huff of disbelief, and then grinned.

“I’m so happy for you, June. Congrats,” he grinned, leaning down so the woman could hug both him and Romy. Since moving into their home six years ago, June had been kind of like a mother to him, in the way that she looked out for him and gave him advice. Henry had been her beau for at least three of those years, and well, the two of them were getting on in their old age. Derek had never expected them to marry, but now he couldn’t fathom why. Henry was a good guy, and at the age he and June were at, why wait around. Three years was long enough when you’re quickly approaching late-seventies.

A week later, he noticed an envelope had been slipped through their door.

Henry Gardiner and June Laurence  
cordially invite you  
Derek & Romaine Hale plus one  
to witness the joyous occasion of their wedded matrimony  
on December 31st

Plus one.

He hoped Stiles had a suit.

•

Meeting Scott again was like shifting into a parallel universe where suddenly it was seven/eight years ago again only this time Derek was the one tending to Stiles’ ridiculous whims, and Scott was the one who glared any time anyone opened their mouths. It was unsettling, to say the least. Childish, even.

“Where’s Allison?” Derek asked, because while he and Allison had never exactly been friends, he was willing to change that, and Stiles had informed him that she and Scott were _married_ now. Yeah.

Scott didn’t respond to the question, really, so Derek looked to Stiles.

“Uh, she won’t be joining us until tomorrow. She’s visiting Lydia at MIT, so…”

“That explains the bumper sticker,” Derek mused, remembering the sticker on Stiles’ Jeep, “I was thinking you didn’t go there.”

“Stiles could have gone to MIT, you don’t know,” Scott deadpanned.

“Scott, I’m a _kindergarten_ teacher,” Stiles, getting exasperated, sat back and folded his arms, “You’re not even _trying_ to be nice. You were supportive of Derek when he left. You didn’t know if he was coming back but man, you were happy for him. Grow the fuck up. I expected better of you.”

“Stiles-”

“No, out of the two of us I always expected you to be the more mature one, and you won’t even give Derek a chance, you’re not even _looking_ at him. Jesus Christ, I am so disappointed in you.”

“Don’t use your disappointed teacher speech on me. I’m not a six year old, Stiles.”

“You’re acting like one.”

Thoroughly reprimanded, Scott looked up at Derek and sighed.

“I don’t get it,” he said, “We kinda thought you’d come back. You didn’t. And you were kind of… my mentor? I still didn’t know half the shit that came with being a wolf, and you left me. Deaton… was vague. You could have thrown me a bone.”

Stiles looked as if he was trying _very hard_ not to make a dog joke.

Derek’s shoulders slumped inward and he curled in on himself, a strange show of weakness in the presence of another Alpha. But he found that lately he didn’t really care about status anymore. He hadn’t cared in a very long time.

“I lost Cora. I gained Romy. It was hard for me to think about anyone else.”

He lauched into the full story then, everything that happened between them and the Jaegers, and then everything after that too. How he figured out how he was going to raise Romy. How he opened himself up for her, to be a good father-figure.

Halfway through an anecdote about watching Discovery with a colicky Romy at 4am, Derek realised that Stiles was quite openly staring at him, face content and happy. Derek smiled back, and noticed Scott tense.

“Anyway. Moral of the story is: I’m a parent. Being a parent changes you, Scott. There’s no reason to be suspicious of me. I have no ulterior motives.”

They finished their drinks in silence, until Stiles grew uncomfortable and fidgity.

“Why don’t we walk down by the river? It’s frozen over now, super cool,” he suggested.

Scott slouched, “I’m gonna call Allison, you guys go ahead and I’ll catch up.”

Derek and Stiles left cash on the table for the coffee and exited the store.

“That was weird. He was weird,” Stiles said, the moment the door shut.

“He can probably still hear you.”

“Don’t care. Scott’s a dick.”

“He’s understandibly cautious.”

Stiles huffed out a sigh, his breath fogging the air in front of his mouth as they started to walk towards the river, standing close together in the cold. Derek didn’t really feel the drop in temperature, but he _did_ run at least a few degrees hotter than Stiles- who must be freezing. Derek edged closer.

“So, I wanted to ask you something,” he started, and Stiles looked over at him sharply, an eyebrow arched.

“You did?”

“Um,” Derek swallowed thickly, trying to keep his nerve, “Maybe I’m getting the wrong signals, so feel free to correct me, no harm done-”

Stiles’ heatbeat spiked, and Derek saw his eyes go wide.

“My neighbour June is getting married New Year’s Eve. She’s pretty old, has kind of been like a grandmother to me and Romy while we’ve been here. She invited us to the wedding.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathed, sounding confused but interested in just that single syllable.

“The invite says Derek and Romy Hale, plus one.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Stiles’ breath was a little more forced this time, like the air was rushing out of his lungs.

“So… would you?”

Derek almost walked right past Stiles, who stopped right in his tracks there on the pavement. Derek eyed Stiles carefully, watching his cheeks, already filled with colour from the cold, get steadily redder, mouth open with shock. (Then again, when was his mouth _not_ open?)

“Would I…?”

“Come. With us. To the wedding,” Derek said, and then took a shaky little breath as he added, “as my date.”

Stiles looked as if a train had hit him head on.

“Yeah. Yes, of course. I’d love to.”

Derek released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and grinned.

“So, I’ve been reading all the signs correctly?”

“Here I was thinking I was a terrible flirt.”

“You _slept_ on me.”

“Yeah, well,” and Stiles’ shrug was so _‘what can you do’_ that Derek couldn’t help but laugh, and drag him forward by the collar of his coat.  Stiles’ lips were cold against his, but his mouth was warm when Derek licked into it, and Stiles made an eager little noise as he reached out to put his hands on Derek- anywhere at all, but mostly grasping his biceps.

For a first kiss, it was good. A little messy and breathless, but warm and wet and Stiles definitely earned all the points for enthusiasm. Derek would give him a gold star for it, even.

•

Scott seemed to ease up on the ride home in the Jeep, but maybe that was because Stiles was holding Derek’s hand over the stick-shift, and Scott was just glad that after all this time they finally found the guts to do something about their feelings.

Derek figured that Scott was more angry at Derek leaving Stiles behind than leaving _him_ behind.

•

Stiles called during his lunchbreak one day, demanded to know what colour tie Derek was wearing.

“I want to match, I never get to match with anyone! We’re coordinating.”

“It’s red,” Derek said, “Deep, dark red.”

Stiles laughed, “Matches your eyes.”

•

Stiles and Ailbhe held Christmas Dinner for everyone, even Nick’s family coming along to the event. That was when Derek met Caoilinn MacTíre for the second time in his life. She was a slender, willowy woman with pale-red hair and soft blue eyes, the Alpha of what Ailbhe affectionately referred to as the ‘Mac Pack.’ The meeting was cordial though, very friendly – Derek had never experienced anything like it. But he supposed that back when his family were alive, they were always very friendly towards other wolves.

Romy mixed well with them, ending up curled into Ailbhe’s sister’s lap until just before dinner, when the doorbell rang.

“Gingers! Everywhere!” Stiles shouted as he opened the door, and Lydia’s smile dropped into a scowl.

“Stiles, please.”

So Lydia hadn’t changed much. Her face did light up however, when she saw Derek, which made a nice change. And the look she gave him wasn’t exactly unappreciative either.

“You look good, Derek. Your thirties suit you.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “You look lovely tonight.”

“I always look lovely,” she beamed, and Derek couldn’t help but laugh.

After dinner, when everyone was laughing and full, Derek found Stiles on his own outside, swirling a half-drank glass of wine, head tilted back against the brick of his house. Derek let himself admire the arc of Stiles’ neck for a moment, the slope of his nose, the bow of his lips.

“You look blissed out.”

Stiles barely opened his eyes, but cast Derek a sideward glance.

“I’m totally content with my life. It can only get better.”

Derek smiled and nudged Stiles with his elbow, as Stiles just leaned into his side, smiling.

“No mistletoe,” Derek commented, and Stiles snorted.

“Um, I’ve got like, sixty werewolves in my house-”

“Just seven, actually.”

“-so I think mistletoe is a bad idea…” Stiles turned his head, getting a proper look at Derek, and smiling, “But if you’re looking for an excuse to kiss me…”

“I don’t think I need an excuse.”

“I thoroughly approve of our relationship development, Derek. How did we get so lame and cute?”

“Stop talking, let’s kiss.”

•

Romy’s dress was forest green, beautiful with her long dark hair and sallow complexion. If she had noticed Derek and Stiles dancing around each other for the past couple of weeks, she didn’t say a word, but that might have been because she was so used to them dancing around each other anyway. Except, there was more kissing now. And a little bit of fumbling – but nothing major.

“You okay, kiddo?” he asked, crouching down to fix her hair back from her face.

She nodded wordlessly and tugged at his tie with her little hands, and then suddenly, she threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck. Derek was blown away by the sudden wave of relief he felt from her as she squeezed the collar of his shirt and burried her face in his neck.

“Romy? Alright, pup?”

“I like when you’re happy,” she said, the only explaination she offered. But Derek didn’t need anything else. When Romy felt like letting go of him, he stood up and slid on his suit jacket.

“Ready to go get Stiles?”

She waved her baby-sized clutch at him (the one Ailbhe had _insisted_ on), by way of confirmation, and then he opened the front door. June and Henry had been gone since the night before but Derek was to meet June at the church. She had no kids of her own, but had asked Derek to walk her down the aisle and give her away, which had really made Derek emotional.

Derek buckled Romy into her seat and was pulling up outside Stiles’ house just ten minutes later. Swallowing down a slight tick of nervousness, he sent Stiles a text to say that he was outside, and then about thirty seconds later the door opened, and Romy had to remind her uncle how to _breathe_.

Stiles was wearing dark grey slacks and a waistcoat, not dissimilar in colour to Derek’s suit, and his jacket draped over one shoulder as he locked the front door of the house behind him. He wore a deep red shirt and a deeper-red bowtie and despite Romy’s constant prodding, Derek still wasn’t _breathing_.

Then Stiles opened the passenger side door and beamed in at them.

“Hi,” he said.

“ _Hey_ ,” Derek exhaled, and Stiles’ eyebrows rose suddenly.

“Everything okay?” he asked, face falling slightly as he looked down at himself- and Derek fumbled to assure him that what he was wearing was _perfectly. fine. great. perfect. sexy._

“Yeah, everything’s great. You look great,” he said, full sure he was blushing, “Better than I- imagined.”

“What _did_ you imagine?”

 “Nothing like this. This is… I mean. Stiles, you..” Derek shut his mouth quickly, mouth set into a line in an effort not to say anything else embarrassing, “Romy, put your seatbelt back on, sweetheart.”

Stiles climbed into the passenger seat, looking smug, but his eyes softened as he leaned his head back against the headrest to stay out of Romy’s sight when he mouthed _Can I kiss you now?_ and his eyes flickered towards said girl in the backseat. She was pointedly inspecting the inside of her clutch (which only held tissues, a little mirror, and a chapstick) and Derek had to hold back an unattractive snort.

Instead he leaned across the gap between them and pressed his mouth to Stiles’ for just a brief kiss, ignoring Stiles’ noise of protest as they broke apart.

“Beard burn,” Derek explained, “Your face’ll get all scratched up.”

“Oh wow, I can’t remember the last time I had to worry about beard burn.”

“Sorry,” Derek chuckled, backing out of the driveway and onto the road.

“Don’t be, I like it,” Stiles said quickly, before twisting in his seat to pay some attention to Romy in the back, “Hey, Punkin. You’re looking swell.”

“Thank you,” she beamed, and then pulled her hair back behind one ear, “I got earrings. They’re just clip-ons though. Uncle Derek says I’m too young to get them pierced, because it’s different for us.”

“Well, if piercings for werewolves are anything like tattoos, I’d wait until you were older too,” Stiles agreed.

“Do you have any?” Romy asked, and Derek almost reprimanded her for being nosy, but he was just as curious now.

“Piercings? No. I have a tattoo though.”

“You do?” Derek frowned, and Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve _seen_ it.”

“Uh, no,” Derek shook his head as they stopped at a junction.

“Where is it?” Romy piped up, and Stiles lifted his arm a little.

“It goes from here-” he touched the inside of his arm, below his bicep, and then drew his finger down to his ribs, all the way down his side “-to here.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Like a b-” Stiles suddenly snapped his mouth shut, “Yes. It hurt a lot, Romy. I fainted.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Derek said, confused.

“Maybe you were still half asleep when I got back from my run,” Stiles mused, voice low.

“Maybe I was distracted,” Derek replied, smirking, his voice coming out lower than intended.

“Anyway!” Stiles interrupted loudly, and quickly, “Your earrings are lovely, Romy. They really bring out the colour in your eyes. You have your mother’s eyes.”

Derek’s shoulders were still shaking with laughter when they parked outside the church.

He definitely did. not. cry. during the ceremony. Not at all. Regardless of what Stiles said or told anyone, and anyway, he figured that it was warranted. He was happy for June. He didn’t like the thought of her being alone. He never wanted _anyone_ to feel alone.

At the reception, Stiles went to shake June’s hand, and she yanked him down into a full-bodied hug, and he huffed out a laugh into her hair, almost sweeping the little woman off her feet.

“You’ll dance with me later, June, yeah?” he yelped, as Romy dragged him towards the dance floor.

“Of _course_!” June called back, before returning her attention to Derek where he sat next to her, “He’s very cute, Derek. I like him a lot.”

Derek just smiled and nodded, “He’s something.”

“He’s the Kindergarten teacher you were talking about?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, looking out to the dance floor where Stiles was dancing with Romy balanced on his shoes, “He’s really good with kids. Which is weird, because when I knew him before, he was just a kid himself.”

“A fine young man, now.”

“Yeah,” he said again, a little lost at the way Romy was clinging to Stiles, looking at him like he hung the moon. Derek was pretty sure _he_ often looked at Stiles like that.

“Well, this time, don’t let him go,” June said, with a tone of finality, “Go dance with them. Have fun, it’s a party!”

She gave him a shove, and Derek laughed as he got to his feet to go join the two most important people in the world to him.

•

Romy conked out just before 11pm, but Derek was surprised she had even lasted that long. He was beat, between the dancing and socialising, and he was glad they were staying in the hotel tonight and didn’t have to drive home.

Stiles was just a little more than tipsy (giggly and confident, but lucid) as he followed them up to the suite – a family room, the receptionist had said, two bedrooms and a little kitchenette for breakfast in the morning.

Derek got the key-card into the door and pushed it open, Romy snuffling into his neck as Stiles clicked it shut behind them again. There were two options. Stiles taking a room to himself, and Derek watching Romy for the night. Or, Romy getting a room to herself, and-

“Do you want the single?” Derek asked him, nodding his head towards the room with the twin bed, and Stiles looked at him like he was crazy.

“C’mon, Der.”

Derek chuffed out a laugh, “Just making sure,” as he brushed past Stiles and into the single room to put Romy to bed. She was sleepy and limp, a little reluctant to put on her pyjamas and take off her earrings, but eventually he tucked her in under the covers, flicked off the lights, and backed out of the room. He shut the door fully, knowing he’d hear her, sense it if she needed him.

Stiles was leaning against the breakfast bar in the kitchenette.

“Thanks for inviting me, by the way. Did I thank you for that?” he asked, and Derek couldn’t help but really _really_ smile, as he took in Stiles’ party-dishevelled appearance. His bowtie hung loose around his neck, shirt collar open. He’d left the jacket of his suit in Derek’s car, rolled up his shirt-sleeves after his third beer, while Derek wasn’t looking. And fuck, he was gorgeous.

“No, but you didn’t need to.”

“I think I do.”

“Uh-”

“Fuck, Derek, just come here already.”

Derek might have rolled his eyes a little, but then he just let Stiles get a hold of his jacket and drag him in, and kiss him like he’d been wanting to all day, regardless of beard burn.

Derek had never known Stiles to hold back, and he was still glad that hadn’t changed about him. Stiles grabbed a handful of his hair, his mouth tasting sharply of vodka, but sweet at the edges. Strong and vibrant, just like Stiles.

“If we go in the bedroom, will she hear us?”

“She’s fast asleep.”

“And we’ll be quiet.”

“You can _try_.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.” Stiles insisted, even as Derek’s mouth was on his neck.

“Shh!”

“Bedroom,” Stiles grunted, smacking him in the chest, and pushing him back, “Before the new year, please.”

“God, you’re bossy.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Stop _talking_ ,” Derek laughed under his breath, but gave Stiles a shove in the direction of the bedroom anyway. He just- wanted his hands all over, and he’d been waiting too long already. It seemed like Stiles had too, because he pressed Derek up against the bedroom door – as quietly as he could – and kissed him again. Not that Derek was complaining. Anything that involved Stiles’ mouth on him was a positive.

Stiles’ hands slid from his waist around his back, deftly pulling Derek’s shirt out from where it had been tucked in.

“This fucking suit. Not that I don’t love this getup on you, I’d rather it be on the floor.”

“Or hung neatly over the back of a chair,” Derek hinted, and Stiles barked out a laugh, Derek kissed him quickly to shut him up, fingers nimbly unbuttoning his waistcoat. Stiles, with less regard for his clothing than Derek, flung it to the floor with his bowtie, and backed up until he reached the bed, laying down on the foot of it.

“I’m going to grab something from the bathroom,” Derek said, flicking on the light in the en-suite.

“Don’t be long,” Stiles muttered, starting to undo the buttons on his shirt.

“Don’t- I want to undress you,” Derek warned, and Stiles raised an eyebrow in defiance.

“I’m taking off my shoes,” he said rebelliously, “If you’re not back, I’m starting without you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Derek stage-whispered, a little breathless (breathless! Derek!) as he backed into the bathroom to retrieve what he needed – lube, a condom – and when he came back, Stiles was wiggling his toes against the carpet. And he just looked so _lovely_. His hair was a mess, longer than Derek had ever seen it but standing on end where Derek had ran his hands through it, his shirt half undone, feet bare on the floor and grey slacks perfectly tailored against the shape of his legs.

Stiles looked up impatiently, the curve of his lips set to frown.

“Derek, c’mon. I’ve waited like, eight years for this. Get over here and let me suck your dick.”

And yeah, _anything that involved Stiles’ mouth on him was a positive._

Derek shrugged out of his shirt, letting Stiles tug him forward by the pockets of his pants. Stiles’ hands slid briefly up his stomach,  and he was murmuring something like _better than I remember_ , before darting down to flick open the button on his dress pants, and push them down, boxer-briefs too.

Stiles groaned affirmatively, and then suddenly he was sinking his mouth down over Derek’s cock with absolute _ease_ , and Derek was pretty sure it wasn’t even happening, it couldn’t be real. A dream.

“Fuck, Stiles, _fuck_ ,” he murmured, hand in Stiles’ hair again, and Stiles just went down further, as far as he dared – all wet heat and pressure – and made a little muted noise of appreciation in the back of his throat. Derek’s hand cupped his jaw, thumb pressing softly at the corner of his lips, “Your mouth, so perfect. _Stiles_.”

Stiles looked up at him then, dark eyes framed by even darker lashes, and he clutched tightly at Derek’s hips, and maybe there would have been bruises if Derek had been delicate in any way. And Stiles just kept grasping at him, _encouraging_ him to thrust forward into his mouth as he took him effortlessly.

He pulled off slowly, until his lips just pursed against the head of Derek’s cock, and Derek shuddered as Stiles opened his mouth and exhaled softly.

“I’ve always been told my mouth is my best asset.”

And Derek growled at that, because he didn’t want to think about anyone else fucking Stiles’ mouth. Just him. Just him from now on.

Derek pushed him back, crawled up over him as he shucked his suit pants off fully, and he dragged Stiles’ lower lip down with his thumb before kissing him, licking into his mouth.

“Fuck, you said you were going to undress me,” Stiles’ voice was rough and a little desperate, still in his shirt and slacks, and he looked so good but he could probably look even better, Derek thought.

“I did, didn’t I,” he mused, and Stiles’ fingers dug into his back warningly.

“Stop fucking around, waited long enough. Told you already.”

Derek popped open the button, slowly easing down the zipper as he enjoyed the sound of Stiles’ breathless whispers, _c’mon_ and _please_ and _Derek_. He gently tugged the pants down Stiles’ legs, tossing them aside – and Stiles’ mostly naked on his bed was pretty much better than anything Derek had ever imagined.

He pushed Stiles’ shirt up, the material an inky black in the low light, stark against Stiles’ skin, but lovely too, and Derek was drawing his fingers down the lean contours of Stiles’ stomach, when his hand was slapped away.

“C’mon, _now.”_

Derek couldn’t remember a time he’d been with someone so authoritarian (well, he could, but he didn’t like thinking about it), and suddenly he was ready to roll over and show Stiles his belly, submit. Maybe not tonight, though.

There was a soft _snick_ from the cap of the lube as he slicked his fingers up, and Stiles was pulling his shirt over his head without bothering to undo all the buttons, and then falling back, sprawled across the covers.

That was when he saw it, the tattoo they’d spoke about that morning. And Derek wasn’t even _surprised_ by it, what it was: It was a grey wolf on a hazy background against his ribs, smoky tendrils weaving up around his bicep, the tail low and curved with the shape of his hip. It was huge, kind of ridiculous.

Derek couldn’t help it, but he laughed.

“Go hard or go home,” Stiles offered by way of explanation, shrugging a shoulder, arms stretched above his head.

“I thought you were scared of needles,” Derek mused, remembering something Scott had once said, remembering a much more _squeamish_ Stiles.

“I’ve made a point of facing my fears,” Stiles said softly, tilting his head, “of being a stronger person now. I _know_ you get that.”

And then he gripped Derek by the back of the neck and pulled him down, kissing him again, impatiently. Derek slid two fingers in easily, and Stiles’ grabbed his wrist and squeezed tightly, back arching.

“Fuck _yes_ ,” he bit out, “It’s been a while- since someone else-”

And Derek slowly fucked him with his fingers, and Stiles bit down on his lip, and then his wrist, to stifle his moan; Stiles’ hands may have been bigger, but Derek’s fingers were thicker.

At the third finger Stiles faltered, a hand flying out to twist at the sheets, and Derek almost stopped. But then he found that perfect angle, that sensitive, nervous spot that made Stiles gasp and his spine curl.

“ _Jesus,_ fuck, yeah-” he panted out, “C’mon, Derek, please, I-”

“You’re so gorgeous, look at you.”

“Fuck me _now_ , sonnets _later_.”

Derek rolled on the condom, placed his hands on Stiles’ thighs.

“Like this?” he asked, quiet and breathless.

“Yeah, I- no. No, let me ride you.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek breathed out a nervous laugh as Stiles pressed his palms to Derek’s shoulders, encouraging him to lie back, and he went down with ease as Stiles clambered over him and straddled his hips.

Derek could have lost it then, like a teenager, watching Stiles sink down onto him like they’d been doing it forever, like there had been no lost time between them, like they were each other’s forever. The be-all and end-all, that’s what it was.

Stiles was quiet then (finally), hands braced against Derek’s chest, bright eyes closed and red mouth open, hair falling across his forehead and swept every-which way. Yeah, Derek could write that sonnet. He could write anything Stiles asked him to, _do_ anything Stiles asked him to.

“Stiles, if you don’t move.”

“Sorry,” Stiles bit his lip almost shyly, “You feel good like this. This feels good.”

“That’s the point, you need to-” Derek  reached out to get his hands on Stiles’ hips, get him moving, and suddenly Stiles grabbed his wrists and pinned them down by his head, slowly rolling his hips. Derek held back his strangled moan. He could easily overpower Stiles like this, but he didn’t want to. He was tired of power and control ruling his life, maybe now he could just go with the flow. Gladly let Stiles take the lead.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Stiles murmured, letting go of Derek’s wrists, to palm his ribs,  methodically rocking back on Derek and stroking his hands over his torso, “so good.”

Derek wanted to reach his hand between them, wanting to stroke Stiles’ cock where it was thick and hard between them, but Stiles held his arm down again and just rode him a little harder, thighs tight against Derek’s hips.

Stiles leaned down then, his mouth crashing against Derek’s, wet and warm and so right, sucking into the skin below his jaw as if he could leave a mark by sheer power of will, and Derek leaned back, bared his neck, took it.

“Perfect, _perfect_ , so good, Stiles,” he murmured, and Stiles choked out another sound, like it was too much, and buried his face into Derek’s neck, the rhythm of his hips faltering. Derek broke free from his grasp, got a hand on one round, firm cheek of Stiles’ ass and the other threading into his hair and held him there.

Stiles chanted out monosyllabic phrases, little cries, grunts, _fucks_ , and then finally a _oh my god, Derek, you’re gonna make me come_ , as Derek scraped his teeth over Stiles’ jaw.

And then he did come, and Derek felt it all over his body in the way Stiles’ arched his back, and dug his nails in, and clenched his thighs and choked on his own expletives, like he was a star collapsing in on itself.

Stiles kissed him hard, their lips crashing together, and Derek came too, hot and fierce, Stiles’ name between their mouths like a mantra until it was all over.

Stiles tumbled face-first into the pillow next to Derek, and quaked, full-body shuddered at the contact of the sheets against his skin.

“Oh my. Fuck. God.”

Derek huffed out a laugh.

“So much for being quiet.”

Stiles scoffed into his pillow.

“That _was_ quiet.”

•

Stiles and Romy were eating breakfast on the floor of the kitchenette, watching the lake from the balcony window, Romy in her pyjamas, Stiles in a pair of sweats and what was definitely _Derek’s_ t-shirt, not his own.

Stiles, through a mouthful of branflakes and strawberries, said, “Ever been to Beacon Hills, Romy?”

Romy frowned, and asked, “Where’s that?”

“North California,” Stiles said, “I grew up there. Your Uncle Derek too. My dad’s girlfriend lives there, and her son. He’s my best friend, and his pack are out there…”

“Do you ever go back?”

“At least a couple times a year,” Stiles nodded, and Romy leaned her little elbows on his leg, peering up at him.

“Why don’t you go back there for good? Got lots of family. Family should stick together,” Romy said, and Derek smiled as he observed them from the door of the bedroom. Stiles hadn’t noticed him yet, but Derek could  see him smiling at Romy’s words, something Derek had said to her many times before. Family – _pack_ – sticks together.

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, putting his bowl aside to gather the little girl into his arms, to sit with her watching the boats on the lake in the early morning, January 1st.

“You know, my mom died too, Romy. But I was a lot older than you when it happened, and it was hard. It was like losing half my family. For a while, I felt like family was just me and my dad. But it’s so much more than that. It’s better than that. My family just keeps growing, Punkin. I’ve got family everywhere.”  

“You’ve got me and Uncle Derek now,” Romy said, sounding all too old for her six years of age, as Derek sat down next to Stiles on the floor. Stiles grinned and caught Derek’s eye, touching his warm hand over the cold tile.

“Yeah. And that’s the most important thing.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **For Reference if needed:**  
>  -MacTíre [(muc-cheer-ah) translation: wolf, literal: son of the country(side)]  
> -Ailbhe [(al-vah) translation: pure, noble, bright]  
> -Caoilinn [(kay-linn) translation: from 'caol' menaing slender and 'fionn' meaning white, fair and pure]  
> -Grúpa Ceoil [(group-ah k-yole), translation: music group]  
> -The Siege of Ennis is an actual thing [[x]](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKMXugkZ7mI), except you can imagine when it's not professionals dancing, those kicks can pretty much go anywhere.


End file.
